#i think i figured out how to draw shawn

[obsidiancreates]

Henry Spencer Is A Bastard (With A Broken Nose)

Shawn and Jules have been living together for two weeks when Jules storms into the precinct, grabs Lassiter by the arm, and drags him into the interrogation room.

“O’Hara, what the hell is-”

“You’ve spent time alone with Henry,” she says, sitting Lassiter in the suspect chair. “What was he like?”

“What?”

“This is important, Carlton.”

Lassiter sighs, looking around the room for a moment before answering. “Unpleasant and judgemental. He had every quality of a great cop but none of an actual person I’d spend time with.”

“Which for you is saying something,” Jules mumbles, looking to the side. “Would-would you say you think he’s capable of intentional child endangerment or neglect?”

Lassiter sits up more. “What? O’Hara, what is this about?”

Jules takes a deep breath, looking down at her hands. “I was helping Shawn get some stuff from his old room, and we found an old journal from when he was a kid.It was mostly just doodles and half-finished homework, and he said to just throw it away, but… I kept it. I thought it was cute, to be able to look at what went through his brain as a kid.”

“O’Hara. If you’re alleging what I think-”

“I read more later while he was out with Gus and one of the pages was a failed writing assignment. He was supposed to write about what he did over the weekend and he wrote that his dad locked him a trunk and made him pretend to be kidnapped.”

Lassiter lets out a breath. “Okay. But you and I both know Spencer’s imagination-”

“Carlton, remember the kicked-out tailight? When he got shot?”

“O’Hara, I was with Henry through that whole investigation, and I don’t think I can say that the man I investigated with would purposefully hurt or neglect his son. He was like a machine through the whole thing.”

“There was more, though, Carlton. One of the assignments was to write about how they spent Easter and Shawn’s said he got cut on some glass trying to dig up his eggs. He drew a picture, it-”

She pulls out her phone and hands it to her partner. Lassiter looks at a crude drawing of a small stick figure on it’s hands and knees, overly-large shards on the ground in front of it, and an egg a good few lines below it. There’s a taller stick figure behind the small one, with a wide-open mouth and the words ‘You can do better, Shawn,’ written beside it.

The teacher’s note on the side says that Shawn needs to stop making up stories for assignments about his real life.

Lassiter hands the phone back. “O’Hara…”

Jules sits back in her chair a bit, the tension giving way to a slumped tiredness. “I know they’ve never had an… easy relationship, but Henry has always been so present, ever since we’ve known Shawn. I thought that was a good thing and Shawn’s discomfort was just Shawn being… Shawn.” She looks down at her hand in guilt. “What if I completely missed that he has reason, Carlton?”

Lassiter grabs one of Jules’s hands. “O’Hara, Henry Spencer is a bitter, unlikeable, and overbearing old man- but I really don’t think he’s capable of child abuse.”

Jules holds his hand back and gives it a squeeze. “I just… don’t know how to ask Shawn if these are real. He’s not exactly forthcoming about messy emotions and memories.”

Lassiter nods, and then blinks. “So let’s ask Guster. They’ve been stuck together like flies on a flytrap forever.”

Jules shakes her head. “If Shawn isn’t going to say anything, I really don’t think Gus will.”

“Well, you can either ask Guster if these are real, or you can worry about it forever and never get any answers.” Lassiter knows his partner well enough to know that’s unacceptable to her.

She gives his hand one more squeeze. “I’m just worried. Henry works here. He’s in charge of Shawn.”

“And I’m sure that when we talk to Guster about all this, we’ll learn that Spencer was just exaggerating like he always does.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gus reads the page with wide eyes. “Wait, he was serious about that?”

Lassiter stifles the urge to shout ‘Come on!’ when he hears Jules suck in a breath.

“You mean you knew about this already?”

“I mean, Shawn told me once that he liked Easter at my house way more because there was no ‘manhunt training’, but I thought he just meant something like when his dad would have him stakeout their porch.”

“He what?”

“It, sounds worse than it is. … I think.” Gus looks down at the old notebook again. “I thought. … I mean, Henry was always a little intense. When Shawn and I were boyscouts he used to set up challenges that were impossible to win, and then make us feel bad for not winning.”

“What do you mean, impossible to win?” Lassiter is starting to get concerned now. Shawn’s incessant need to show everyone up has been a pain in his ass for years, and if Henry reinforced that grating attitude and now acts like he tried to quell it-

“Stuff like telling us to go find a rocket in the middle of the woods and then going and grabbing it himself. He used to promise us ice cream if we won, then say he’d eat it himself if we didn’t win next time.” Gus’s face pinches the more he talks about the memories. “Gosh, I haven’t thought about that in years. I guess I didn’t realize how messed up that is until I said it out loud.”

“It’s horrible,” Jules says.

“But not criminal,” Lassiter reminds her. “And as… weird and dangerous as the eggs thing is, that’s not criminal either. … I think.”

“What about the trunk, Carlton?”

“... Yeah, that part’s looking pretty bad.”

Gus shuts the notebook. “We need to talk to Shawn about this. I don’t know if I’m even remembering right, but I know he will.”

“He’d never open up about something like this,” Jules says, gesturing to the notebook and letting her arms drop back to her sides with a flop. “He barely tells me about his childhood at all.”

“Well I was there for most of it, and I need to make sure I didn’t miss some serious abuse going down for our entire lives. Do you know how many times I’ve defended his dad to him, Juliet? … Oh my god, on that same boyscout trip with the rocket, he told me his dad had never said he loved him!”

Lassiter doesn’t need to look at Jules to know she’s probably seething with the rage of the entire underworld- if he believed in such a thing. 

Henry better hope they find out it’s not as bad as it’s seeming.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Shawn gets home, Jules, Lassiter, and Gus are all sitting on the couch looking somber. Well, Jules and Gus look somber. Lassiter looks mildly offput.

“Guys! What’s all this, are we having some kinda surprise party?” Shawn looks around for decorations, but there’s nothing. He looks back with excitement. “Is it a case? A big one?”

“Shawn, sit down, we need to ask you about something.” Jules gestures for him to take a seat on a different chair.

“Uh-oh. That’s not your happy voice.” Shawn sits down and leans forward. “Hey, babe, what’s wrong?”

Jules takes a deep breath, and pulls out the notebook. Shawn looks at it. “Oh, that? Please don’t tell me that my drawing skills when I was eight are a dealbreaker.”

“Shawn, did Henry…” Jules falters. Shawn’s expression… 

It doesn’t harden, per say. It just… shifts. Becomes a little closed-off.

“Spencer, did Henry actually make you dig through broken glass to find ridiculous holiday candy?” Lassiter says, offering Jules his hand for support. She takes it.

Shawn’s mouth quirks up in the corner, a huff-laugh escaping him. His eyes aren’t as amused, a dark look in them. “What? How-how’d you know about that?”

“Oh my god.” Gus looks sick.

“Guys, seriously, what is this?” Shawn reaches out and snatches the notebook, flipping through it. Fast at first, and then slower. The slight smirk disappears completely, and Jules and Gus know that habit of sticking his tongue over his teeth means Shawn is not in a good emotional space whatsoever as he reads.

He closes the notebook and tosses it onto the coffee table, sitting back into the chair and sniffling. “It’s uh- it’s nothing.”

“Dude, that is not nothing. I thought you were making that stuff up when we were kids!”

“What? Why would I make that up?” That just seems to confuse Shawn.

“Because you were always making things up!”

“Not about my dad! You were like, the one person I could talk about him with! You thought I was lying about everything the whole time?” Now he looks hurt. 

“Not everything, but crazy stuff like him locking you in a trunk in the middle of a hot day and putting broken glass over your eggs, yeah! Oh my go- this makes me look back on everything I know in a completely different light, Shawn!”

“Okay, you can’t actually be this surprised, Gus. I mean, you were at my house all the time, you know how he was. We couldn’t even play hide-and-seek without me getting a lecture about hunting perps the right way.” The bitterness in his voice is familiar to his friends, the way he keeps from meeting their eyes, the arms crossed over his chest and tense body language. It’s not that they’ve never seen him like this. But they’ve never seen him like this and truly understood it. Even Gus.

Gus, who looks increasingly horrified as he thinks back on more and more memories. “When we were really little and you told me your dad would throw you out for reading comics, were you serious?”

Shawn scoffs a little. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Did he actually ban them?”

“... Yeah. That part he did. He said they made cops look bad.”

“Good god, Spencer, you’re talking like everything in your house was about cops twenty-four-seven.”

“Gee, Lassie, I wonder why. You’ve met my dad, right?”

“But you’re talking like he expected you to be a perfect cop from the second you were born.”

Shawn goes silent. He still won’t look at any of them.

“Oh, my god.” Jules reaches out to put a hand on Shawn’s knee. “Shawn, did he expect that?”

“... Look, guys, it’s… it’s done, alright? It is what it is, and… I’ve accepted that, and I’m working on making things work with my dad. I don’t… I don’t need this. Okay? I don’t want to think about it and get all…” He huffs. “Last time I thought a little too hard about all this stuff I ended up on my motorcycle with nowhere to go, and-and I don’t want to do that again, alright?”

“Shawn, this is important. We’re all working with Henry constantly, watching how he treats you, and this changes how some of that looks.”

“How?” Shawn finally looks at Jules, right in the eyes. “How does this change anything? He’s the same person, Jules. He-he’s controlling, and-and expects way too much, and is disappointed in me. That’s not different now just because you know he went overboard with stuff when I was a kid.”

Lassiter lets out a deep breath. He’d really… really been hoping this wouldn’t be the case. “How overboard, Spencer?”

Shawn looks at Lassie, and then clicks his tongue and looks away again. “Not in that way, man. He never hit me or anything.”

“So what did he do?”

“Why is this an interrogation?” Shawn stands up, pulling away from Jules’s outstretched hand. “This is stuff for me, and my dad to hash out, okay? Just me and him.”

“Did your mom know about this stuff?” Gus asks. 

The mention of his mom seems to make Shawn shut down even more. “Now this is really over.” He walks away, and pauses for just one second to turn around and say, “Don’t- don’t go my dad about all this. I don’t want…”

“... Don’t want what, Shawn?” Jules’s voice is soft and careful.

Shawn doesn’t seem to be able to find the end of the thought. He just shakes his head and walks back out the door.

The three sit in silence for a minute. Jules has tears in her eyes. Gus looks almost shellshocked.

Lassiter stands up. “Alright, I’m officially taking lead on this case.” He looks down at his partner. “O’Hara, find out who in the precinct knew Henry well and still works there. We’ll interview anyone who he might’ve talked to his son about, see if we can dig up any leads there.”

“Whoa, Shawn just said he didn’t want his dad finding out we’re asking about all this, and we just learned he’s way worse than we thought,” Gus says, standing up too. “We can’t start poking around the precinct, because in case you forgot Lassie, he works there!”

“Part-time.”

“He’ll know something is up.”

“Please. I think I know how to run a discreet investigation, Guster.”

“Could you hide something like that from Shawn?”

“... Of course.”

“No, you couldn’t, and if you can’t hide it from Shawn it’s a safe bet that you can’t hide it from his dad.”

Jules stands up. “No, Carlton is right. None of us realized how these pieces fit together until we all talked about it with each other, right? If Shawn won’t… can’t, open up to us about it, the next best thing is getting as many witness statements as possible.”

“Why? It just feels like digging things up to dig them up at this point.”

“Because Henry is currently in charge of Spencer’s livelihood, Guster.”

“I know! He’s in charge of part of mine too!”

“Right.” Jules looks up at Lassiter. “And if we can prove to The Chief that Henry has a negative, unreliable bias against Shawn, we can lessen some of that control!”

“As much as I’d hate to see Spencer off the leash again, I’d hate to be helping enable an abuser even more,” Lassiter agrees. 

“Abuser is a strong word.” Gus doesn’t look like he feels that sentence is 100% true. “He wasn’t all bad a lot of the time. I mean, he loosened up on the comic thing when we were older.”

“We know he cares, Gus,” Jules assures. “But, caring doesn’t mean he didn’t do something wrong. Really, really wrong.”

Gus swallows, and then nods. “I know.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They collect a good few statements over the next week.

One statement claims that Shawn would play poker with some of the officers when Henry brought him to the station- why Henry was bringing a seven year old to an active police station and then not keeping an eye on him was something that went unanswered- and that Henry was obviously upset when he discovered this. Another statement corroborated the story, and added that he caught sight of Henry taking all the money Shawn made from the games and shoving it into the police donation box.

One statement was from an elderly file sorter, who claimed that Shawn was sometimes sent down to grab files for his dad and used to complain to her that henry would only buy Shawn cop car toys, and no others. When she’d asked Shawn if he wanted to be a cop when he grew up, Shawn had reportedly said quote, “Something about not getting a choice.” Other statements claimed, when this was brought up, that Shawn seemed very excited by the idea of being a cop when he grew up- until his arrest.

One statement, given by someone Lassiter vaguely remembers being rookies with back in the day, lends more credibility to the recollections of the elderly woman. The statement claimed that when the rookie would go on ride-alongs with Henry or work under him, Henry would almost always complain about Shawn. Everything from Shawn having an interest that didn’t relate to being a cop, to Shawn ‘acting like a child’ when he would have been under twelve according to the timeline, to Shawn ‘not even trying’ during a specific incident where Henry claimed Shawn forged his signature to go on a field trip and quote “hesitated for a second with his pen or something- I remember it was something really minor, and Henry couldn’t stand it. I thought it was weird that he was teaching his son how to forge signatures and then expecting the kid to never use the skill, but it wasn’t really my place to say.”

By the end of the week, Jules is steaming and Shawn hasn’t come around the precinct at all. Gus keeps dropping by, digging up old journals of his own to use as cross-references when possible. Shawn is quiet with Jules at home, like he’s waiting for something big to happen and he’s worried he could trigger it early.

It makes Jules more upset at Henry, because now her boyfriend’s emotional immaturity seems a lot less like a natural childish nature and a lot more like having genuinely never been taught how to handle anything.

No, according to the information she and Lassiter have gathered, it looks like all Henry taught Shawn was that winning is everything, being the best is non-negotiable, and Shawn was born to be a cop and anything that didn’t align with that idea just… shouldn’t be there.

“Wow.” Lassiter tosses the latest statement onto his desk. “And I thought Henry didn’t discipline Spencer enough as a kid. Some of this stuff makes it sound like Spencer grew up in a boot camp.”

“He basically did,” Jules says bitterly, reading over one of Gus’s old notebooks. “Gus wasn’t even looking for evidence of it, and these journals are full of casual, offhand observations that look worse and worse the more we know. Listen to this one. ‘Today Shawn was in a bad mood, and when I asked him why he said his dad stole his mood ring after showing him to turn the box upside-down. I said that’s cheating, and Shawn said it can’t be if his dad said to do it.’ Who the hell steals a mood ring from a kid?”

“You’re getting caught on the small stuff again, O’Hara.”

“I know, I know. I just- now that we know some of the major things, even the small stuff is making me just unbelievably angry.”

“Yeah, it’s rough to read. At least you and I wanted to be cops.”

“Right? No wonder Shawn ended up a psychic detective, how do you just do something else after being raised so specifically like that? And no wonder he-he buys EasyBake Ovens and goofs off all the time, he had it so strict as a kid…”

“Mmmmm… let’s not excuse every antic, O’Hara. A lot fo it is still just him being a jackass.”

“I won’t get into this with you again, Carlton.”

“Good, I don’t want to get into it again either. … Heads up.”

Jules closes the notebook and tucks it into a desk drawer as swiftly and inconspicuously as possible, Lassie doing the same for his file. Henry walks past them, barley sparing a glance as he makes his way somewhere else.

Jules stares daggers at him so intensely that if dropped to the ground covered with enough puncture wounds to imitate Julias Caesar, Lassiter would think it was a mild scene all things considered.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s three weeks since Jules found the notebook when Shawn rolls over in bed, puts his arm around, and mumbles “I have an eidetic memory.”

Jules puts her book down and looks at Shawn with furrowed brows. “What?”

Shawn sighs and sits up properly. “I have an eidetic memory,” he says again, “And… I don’t like looking back, because I remember everything perfectly. Which means I usually remember what I felt perfectly too, and it usually wasn’t great feelings.” He can’t look her in the eyes this time, either, but instead of the tense, protective body language of before, he’s holding a pillow close to his chest and slightly burying his face into it, almost sagging around it.

Jules starts to rub his back. She knows how hard this kind of… difficult emotional discussion, is for him. Now she even knows why- suspects why, really, because not all of it is proven in full, but still she thinks she can cout is as knowing. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“About the memory?”

“Yeah. That sounds… really difficult to deal with, Shawn. Does Gus know?”

“Yeah, he knows. I think other than my dad, and… and you, he’s the only person who knows.”

“Shawn…”

“I just, I just want you to know… that I’m not asking you to drop it for no reason,” Shawn says, “Or-or because I don’t feel like it’s important. I know it is, I do. I just…”

“Don’t want to relive a lot of it,” Jules says softly. “... Shawn, does this mean you remember everything perfectly? All the time?”

“Eh… fifty-fifty. The ADHD gets in the way sometimes.”

“... But when it doesn’t?”

“I just try not to think about a lot of it.” Shawn moves again, to look her in the eyes, He takes a deep breath, and he looks a little pained. This kind of thing is painful for him, he’s so unsure how to navigate it. “I have to keep moving forward, Jules. It’d be so… so easy to just get stuck, forever, in all the stuff stored in my head. And I’m really, really trying to, I mean that. It’s difficult, and I’m not… always great at it, but I’m trying.”

“And you’re worried we’ll set you back?”

“No! No, I… I don’t know.” Shawn lets Jules pull him close to her chest and begin running her hand through his hair. “My dad and I don’t solve stuff, Jules. We just… argue over it. I’m getting tired of it.”

“... I understand.” She kisses the top of his head. “But I don’t like him being in charge of you when you’re a grown man anymore.”

“You think I do? … But it’s making him a lot happier than he’s been in a long time.”

“You should be happy too, Shawn.”

“Hey. Hey, I am happy.” He looks up into her eyes. “Look at me right now. I’m being cradled like a sweet little baby seal by the most beautiful, badass woman in the entire world. Of course I’m happy.”

Jules laughs a little and contorts a bit to kiss him on the mouth. “I’m glad you told me that, Shawn. And I promise, I won’t ask you to relive anything else for me.”

“... But you’re not going to stop investigating my dad, are you?”

“Did you stop with mine?”

“... Fair enough.” Shawn lays his head back down, and soon enough Jules hears soft snoring from him and mumbled phrases in his sleep.

…

An eidetic memory. Perfect recall.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Jules goes over everything they have so far knowing Shawn has a perfect memory, it makes her angry to such a degree that she thinks it might kill her. Not literally, but it feels strong enough.

She has some of Shawn’s old report cards, some statements she got from former teachers via social media contact, and some copies of pages of one of Gus’s old journals laid out in front of her, and she sees a pattern.

Shawn didn’t do good in school. His report cards are less than average, and are packed with notes about how he doesn’t pay attention, doesn’t seem to absorb any information, and doesn’t remember anything he’s taught. The statements from the teachers describe Shawn as hyperactive, passionate about everything but his schoolwork, and having difficulty with staying observant in class.

Gus’s old journals are full of the same, but also the opposite. Shawn didn’t pay attention in school, but sometimes he could pull something the teacher said from his memory word for word without even trying, and then a few entries later Gus would mention Shawn failed a test on that exact subject. Shawn got beat up because he told a bully he memorized the pattern of answers used in the math tests, but his dad told the teacher and let Shawn know he was doing it. And most of all, Gus writes about how freaky his friend’s ability to look at people and figure them out is. How Shawn notices almost everything almost all the time, and usually makes some dramatic conclusion that isn’t right, but he still notices things and Gus can’t figure out how Shawn fingers things out.

Detective training, and an eidetic memory, and psychic visions. Jules is now pretty sure that Shawn covers up some of his deductions using his visions- he’s known enough impossible information that they can’t possibly all be deductions in disguise, but when she thinks back there’s a few times where it’s obvious in hindsight he used his abilities to cover up the fact that he’s an incredible, highly-trained detective.

Maybe she’s jumping to a conclusion, but she finds herself thinking ‘Because Henry made him hate that he can do it so well,’ as she pieces it all together.

Gus’s journals lend a lot of credit to that theory. Shawn is smart, and Gus knows it, but Shawn acts dumb sometimes and Gus doesn’t understand why, and then Gus mentions that it’s weird that Henry kept Shawn up all night before to stakeout their porch and now Shawn is tired during Little League and Henry tells him to get his head in the game because Henry is the coach.

Henry is the coach, Henry is the chaperone on the field trip, Henry is their Scout Master- he’s in charge of every part of Shawn’s life except for school. And Maddie is rarely brought up, even when Gus writes about spending all day or night or even weekend at the Spencer house. Jules hasn’t seen Shawn’s Mom since Yang almost blew her up, and she just figured that Maddie wanted to stay out of Santa Barbara after that, understandably. She’s getting a different feeling about Maddie staying away now. It seems a lack of presence was her main impression in Shawn’s life, or at least, Shawn’s life through the lens of Child Gus.

So it was basically just Henry. And her heart aches for the thought of someone being stuck in a bad marriage, basically raising a kid alone, and that kid being as hyper and curious and chaotic as Shawn. But the ache is smothered in the sense of righteous rage when she reads other entries about things like a girl throwing a ball at Shawn and missing, and an ostrich choking on the ball, and Henry dragging Shawn away. The entry goes on to say that Shawn told Gus that Henry didn’t believe him when he said he didn’t do it, even after then-superior officer Captain Connors came in and tried to vouch for Shawn.

Henry always assumed the worst. Assumes, the worst, still.

Shawn tries so hard, sometimes, with his dad, and Jules is starting to realize that Henry doesn’t put the same effort in. He tries some, she knows it, she’s seen it, but she also sees him constantly berate, put down, and insult Shawn, publicly and privately. 

Suddenly she remembers something from when Shawn went undercover on the dating show, something she’d been too upset over about Shawn being there at all to really take in in the moment.

“I’m sorry, this woman is way too good for my son. If it was me, I’d vote no.”

She doesn’t have Shawn’s memory, so without rewatching the clip she can’t be totally sure those are Henry’s exact words, but she’s certain that it’s the exact sentiment.

First of all, she takes a little offense to that for herself. But secondly and more strongly, she takes offense for Shawn. As she thinks about it she can remember the way Shawn tried to cover up the awkwardness in the clip, the way the girl on the show whispered “Is this a joke?” and the way it absolutely was not. The way Henry said that on TV, to Shawn’s face, with no hint of shame.

“O’Hara.” She looks up to see Lassiter holding a cup of coffee and a bagel for her. She takes them and Lassiter says, “There’s more steam coming out of your ears than there is that cup.”

“Sorry,” she sighs. “I just… I don’t know if I can control myself tomorrow when Henry comes back in. The more I dig into this, the more I want to just- go back in time and pick little Shawn up and take him somewhere better.”

“Well as much as we don’t like it, O’Hara, Spencer is who he is because he was raised the way he was raised.”

“I know. And I like, who Shawn is!”

“Inexplicably.”

“Carlton.”

“Mmm.”

“Anyway… I love Shawn, and who he is, all of him, but I still wish he could’ve been who he is without going through all of this. It’s not okay.”

“No. No, it’s not.” Lassiter sighs. “Look, O’Hara, put the case down for a while. At this point we’ve got enough to at least make The Chief doubt some of Henry’s intentions and judgements when it comes to Spencer and, well, that was the goal.”

“... Yeah. Yes, okay, I will… I will put this down for a few days.” Jules closes up the file and puts it back into her drawer. “Shawn is still less than happy I’m working on this, anyway. He understands why, but I know he wishes he didn’t.” He probably understands a lot of things he wishes he didn’t. Jules has had to grapple with the realization that she actually doesn’t know as much about how Shawn’s mind works as she thought she knew, and that it’s possible she’ll never know a lot of it. There’s more than just psychic visions to the mystery of his mind, and some of those mysteries are locked up with a key cast out of self-resentments and resentments of his dad.

God, she hopes she can keep up a poker face when Henry comes in.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her file is missing from her desk the next day, and so is Lassiter’s. They both know why.

They march over to Henry’s desk just as Gus comes in to collect a check, and all three end up standing over Henry as he openly and unashamedly reads through the Spencer Upbringing Case File. Gus takes a step back when he realizes that’s what’s happening, as does Lassiter.

But not because of Henry.

Jules looks murderous.

Henry purses his mouth in a frown and nods, raising up the file and then closing it and tossing it onto his desk in one smooth movement. “It’s comprehensive,” he says, like he’s grading a paper. “But it’s a bunch of biased bull.”

“Give them back.” Jule’s voice is ice-cold. 

Henry shrugs, moving his head side to side for a second, still frowning, and then says, “Nah.” He takes the files, and drops them in the trash. “I think you owe me an explanation for why the head detective and his partner are investigating the way I raised my son. Why’d Shawn put you up to this?”

“He didn’t.”

Henry scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

Jules slams one hand onto Henry’s desk. The whole bullpen goes quiet.

“I was helping Shawn get something from your house, and I found a notebook,” she says. 

“Oh, so, you found one of Shawn’s little projects where he exaggerated things to make himself look like a victim of the world?”

“I found the writings of a little kid who didn’t seem to realize at the time of writing that being locked in a hot car trunk and digging through broken glass for Easter Eggs wasn’t normal.”

Henry laughs, crossing his arms. “That’s what you have a problem with? It’s called training, detective. You went through it yourself.”

“When I was an adult, by my choice, and I sure as hell never had to dig through glass.”

“You’re really hung up on that.”

“Because it’s genuinely evil!”

Henry’s smug look melts into a scowl. “How dare you.”

“How dare I?! Do you understand how much all of this is still affecting Shawn, even right now?! He can barely talk about all of this!” “Oh, well, he sure seem capable of reminding me of it.”

“Because you did it! You’re the only other person in the entire world who understood what was done to him in the name of training because you did it!”

“Done to h- you’re overreacting, detective!”

“I, agree, what is going on out here?” Chief Vick hurries over to Henry’s desk from her own. “Detectives, there had better be a damn good reason-”

“There is, Chief.” Lassiter reaches into the trashcan and pulls out the files.

“Karen, Detective O’Hara has allowed her romantic entanglement with my son to-”

“Henry was borderline abusive during Shawn’s childhood,” Jules interrupts, facing her Chief. Chief Vick’s eyes widen and her mouth drops open, a disbelieving laugh escaping her even as she accepts the files and flips them open. “You understand what it is you’re alleging, O’Hara, and against who?”

“I do, Chief, and I think our case file speaks for itself.” All eyes are on them now. Jules doesn’t back down. “I’m well aware of my emotional ties to this case, but I assure you I’m not allowing it to cloud my judgment. If I was, I wouldn’t have used the word borderline to describe the conclusions I’ve come to.”

“Karen, this is ridiculous.”

But Chief Vick is focused on the files in her hands. Her eyes flick up to Henry. “Is it?” She looks over to Gus, who’s been watching with the quiet tension of a prey animal waiting to make a run for it. “Mister Guster, can you genuinely testify to the validity and accuracy of the claims in these files?”

“Oh, um, well, most of those are from my own journals.” Gus’s eyes flick between Henry and Jules. “I’d say that’s even more reliable than just plain memory.”

“It certainly is.” Chief Vick turns her eyes back to the file. “Henry, I think after I’m done going through these we’re going to have a chat about some of your current responsibilities and extent of authority over consultants.”

“Oh, come on, Karen!” Henry looks around at the entire precinct staring, and judging. “This is completely unfounded, and-and blown way out of propor-!”

Henry doesn’t finish the sentence because Juliet O’Hara punches him in the nose.

There’s gasps from everyone in the room. Jules’s fist is bloodied. Henry’s nose went CRUNCH! when her fist made contact.For a long moment it’s like the whole room has collectively stopped breathing. 

“I don’t make unfounded accusations, Henry,” Jules breathes. “Especially not when I have been building a case for over a month, and have watched Shawn completely close off whenever I asked him about this.”

Henry holds his nose, looking at Jules with fear that Lassiter and Gus don’t think is nearly intense enough. “Juliet,” Henry pants, blood streaming out from between his fingers. “This is insane.”

“Quiet, Spencer.” Lassiter moves Jules a little farther away. Her fist is still raised. “I won’t tolerate you disrespecting my partner, especially not in the same way you do your son.”

“What?! You can’t believe all this too, Lassiter.”

“You know I’m not Shawn’s biggest fan, but if you think what O’Hara has done over the last month is anything less than the best damn investigation possible then I have to seriously reconsider some of our shared opinions of your son’s work.”

Gus glances at a box of tissues on Henry’s desk- and then subtly moves to knock them on the floor and kicks them away.

“Herny, I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the precinct for a few days while this gets handled. O’Hara, I’m going to need to speak with you in my office.”

Jules lowers her fist, and nods. She knows she can’t just punch Henry and get away with it scot-free, and she accepts that.

No-one moves to help Henry. Not a single soul. He grumbles as he makes his way past Gus to grab a different box of tissues.

“It’s like he just sucks the respect out of people,” Henry grumbles. 

CRACK!

No-one is more surprised than Gus when his fist slams into Henry’s jaw. Gus reels away immediately, shrinking and cradling his hand, as Henry goes down.

“Mister Guster!” Chief Vick moves forward to try and catch Henry.

“Uuuuh!” Guss whines, shaking his hand. “I-I mean, you don’t get to say that about Shawn! He asked us not to keep doing this! You gotta stop assuming the worst of him all the time!”

“When he earns it!” Henry barks out, then groans and spits. It’s mostly blood.

“You won’t let him earn it!” Jules is furious again. “How many killers does he have to catch for you to see that your son is an amazing man?!”

“It’s not about catching killers,” Henry says, spitting again. “It’s about growing up.”

“Says the grown man who can’t even tell his son ‘I love you’.”

“He doesn’t say it either.”

“That’s not helping your case, Spencer.” Lassiter has his eyes on Jules and Gus. “And considering I’m the only one on said case who hasn’t taken a shot at you yet, I’d say keep your mouth shut.”

“Oh, what do you know.” Henry spits a third time. The Chief looks about ready to punch him herself. “Father-son relationships are complicated, especially when the father wants what’s best for the son and the son just wants to throw everything away and get himself killed!”

“You wanted him to be a cop, Spencer, you didn’t exactly put him on a path to a peaceful and easy life.”

“I put him on the right path, and he never appreciated it, and that is what your case file should say!”

“You know what, Spencer?” Lassiter takes a step closer to the bleeding man. “I’ve put up with a lot of crap from both you and your son over the years, and you two are a lot more similar than you think. But one thing I can say that Shawn has over you is that he doesn’t mean it when he says stupid crap like that.”

“He looks up to you, you ass,” Jules adds. “And he is willing to put aside all of the things you say and do to him to have a good relationship with you. Do you understand how incredible that is? That you don’t even have to work to have him in your life? That he comes to you no matter how many times you tear into him for it?”

“He comes to me because he never listens when he needs to.” Henry’s face is starting to become very purple as the bruises set in. “I don’t know what he’s been telling you, but he needs, my help.”

“Exactly! And he feels like you’re reliable enough to give it to him, and you do! So why do you treat that as though it’s a fault? Do you have any idea what I would have given as a kid, and even now, to be able to just-just go up to my dad and say ‘I need help,’ and have him be there to help me? That means the world!”

“Not to Shawn.” Henry looks pained beyond just the broken nose and possible broken jaw. “The kid is too focused on himself.”

“You don’t know your son at all, then.” Jules turns and walks with The Chief to her office.

Gus shakes his head, grabs the check out of Henry’s paperwork pile, checks that it’s signed, and leaves. 

“Oh, really? It’s up to me to take him to the hospital?” Lassiter looks around and then huffs. “Alright, Spencer. Don’t bleed on my seats, or my dashboard, or anything but yourself.”

“I’m not a bad father,” Henry says, still holding his nose. “I care about my son.”

“Yeah, and somehow Shawn knows that even though you act the way you do.” Lassie buckles Henry in for him so that the nose remains pinched. “But here’s the thing, Spencer. Your son is an arrogant, attention-hogging, impulsive, completely absurd person, and he didn’t just become like that out of a vacuum.”

“Yes he did. I did everything I could. I did everything right as much as possible.”

Lassiter sighs as he gets into the driver’s seat. “You seriously think that? You’d be okay with your grandkid being raised that way?”

“If they had Shawn’s potential, yes.”

“... Dammit.” Lassiter turns to Henry, and punches him in the gut. Henry coughs, and then chokes on his own blood, and then coughs again.

“What the hell?!” Henry gets out between hacks.

“O’Hara would’ve done it. I feel like I owed it to her. … And honestly, Spencer, after compiling that damn case, I’ve been wanting to do it for myself anyway. I already knew you were an overbearing perfectionist with a control issue, but you wishing your son was more like that than he is is even worse.”

“Shawn’s no perfectionist,” Henry wheezes. 

“But he is overbearing with a control issue more often than not. Like I said inside, you two are a lot more similar than you think, and frankly I blame you for the parts of Shawn that go past mild annoyance and into infuriating obstacle.”

“I’d never just hand a collar over to save someone’s ego,” Henry coughs out.

“See, that’s where I wish Shawn wasn’t like you.”

“He’s handed you a collar twice.”

“What? He has not.”

And Henry must be a little delirious from the repeated blows, because Lassiter is pretty sure his next words of “See, this is why Shawn should’ve been head detective,” wouldn’t come out of him otherwise.

Lassiter grips the steering wheel tighter and makes a sharp turn into the hospital parking lot. “Well he’s not, and from the sound of things he never would’ve been anyway.”

“He could’ve been a perfect cop.”

“He’d have been miserable and you know it.”

“He’d be doing things right.”

“You’re hopeless.” Lassiter isn’t any gentler helping Henry out of the car than he was helping him in. “I’m not picking you back up when they’re done with you.”

“I’ll call Shawn.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you will.” And Shawn will come, and probably be mad on his dad’s behalf, and will definitely be mad at all three of the punchers, because he loves his dad enough to overlook years and years of mistreatment that most people would probably consider ground for cutting contact. “And Spencer? If you ever insult O’Hara’s work again, or say anything that gets her that angry, I will help her cover up your disappearance.”

“You don’t mean that,” Henry scoffs.

“Try me.” Lassiter gets back in his car. “And if I hear from her that you’re still badmouthing your son to his face, I’ll make you disappear myself.”

And then he drives away. 

And Henry walks into the hospital alone.

#psych #psychusa #psych usa #psych 2006 #blood tw #blood mention #violence #juliet o'hara #carlton lassiter #burton guster #burton gus guster #shawn spencer #henry spencer hate #I hate Henry Spencer #psychfic #fanfic #my attemps at fanfic #abuse mention #child abuse mention #past child abuse mention

[averagewriter777]

Ghost and Doc (Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader)

Masterlist

Part Twenty-Three

Popular opinion: Simon and Ghost are two different personalities.

Meanwhile…

“Punching a tree for wood is so fucking dumb.” Gaz muttered under his breath, repeatedly hitting the right trigger instead of holding it. (Though Ghost had told him several times holding it would be easier and probably better in the long run)

Alejandro laughed. “Hundred percent agree with you, hermano. Maybe you should make an ax?” He was down in the minds, suffering himself without any light and fighting off mobs with a wooden sword. “And some torches while you’re at it, por favor.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Gaz dropped his head with a sigh, then turned around to the couch. He and Alejandro were on the floor so Ghost could lie down. “You sure you don’t want to play, LT? It’s actually fun, with survival skills too.”

Ghost turned his head, opening one eye to look at the screen. “No. You two have fun playing a children’s game.” Alejandro and Gaz then started to argue that it was rated ‘E’ which meant for everyone, but Ghost tuned it out as his phone started to ring in his pocket. “I’ll be outside taking a call, don’t kill each other.”

The caller ID read ‘Johnny’ and once he missed the call- not on purpose mind you, it just started ringing again. When Ghost picked up, he growled into the phone: “Better be a fucking emergency if you’re calling back to back like that.”

“You could call it that? It’s not an emergency like I need you guys… the people are here, talking to Doc, right?” Ghost hummed, confirming he was listening. “I’m not allowed to be in there, for legal reasons. But I looked through the window, just to see if everything was going okay- she’s fucking crying. Like, has her head in her hands and is shaking, crying.”

Ghost felt something in his stomach twist when hearing that, but pushed it down and ignored it. “I don’t assume you can hear anything through the door, can you?”

“Negative. But before they arrived, Doc told me that the doctor’s said Kennedy has a possibility of not waking up. The woman’s heart is breaking, Simon. I don’t know what we’re supposed to do here.” He did, but he’d be damned if he was going to tell Ghost. Let the man figure it out himself, draw it out.

Fuck. Ghost put a hand on his chin, thinking this out very carefully. Part of him was saying not to be open, just say “she’ll be okay” but that voice wouldn’t win this one. Ghost wouldn’t win this one, nope… Simon would. “We will be there for her. Every step of the way. She’s part of the team, one of us. She’d do the same for us… under circumstances.”

There was a long pause on Soap’s end, and Ghost had a feeling the man was either thinking or grinning from ear to ear. “Right then. We’ll be back once she’s done. I’ll keep you updated too, if you’d like, through text.” 

“Please.”

“Right then. See ya later, LT.” Then the phone call ended.

-

The tears were running freely. Thankfully you were offered some tissues by this legal team, Andy and Carrie. They were… sympathetic to the situation and gave the information in little pieces because of how quickly you broke down.

“With you deploying so much, and at the moment living in Europe for a… an assignment you said? Kennedy, if she wakes up, would be put in a foster home so this wouldn’t happen again.” Andy was repeating what he’d told Shawn days before, just in a lighter manner. He and Carrie had been much more stern and rude to him about this. “And there will be a trial for both Kiara and Shawn because this is child endangerment… and if she doesn’t wake up, this could turn to a homicide case.”

You blew your nose into the tissue again, tossing it into the trashcan afterward. “I-Instead of a foster home… I-I have neighbors who would be willing to t-take care of her, if she w-would wake up?” You really hoped this would work. Losing your only child to foster because of someone else’s mistakes? Absolutely not.

Carrie clicked her pen a few times, thinking carefully. “We’d need to run a background check on them, meet them… before going through with this.” You nodded, mumbling several ‘please’s’ under your breath. “Right. Just write down their contact information and we’ll do that for you, okay?” She gave you a clipboard and the pen. “We just wanted to let you know we’re very sorry this took place while you were gone.”

You nodded shakily. “Thanks.” You took your phone out and started writing down the contact information and address. “They’re good people… I hope this works.”

“Us too…” Carrie and Andy said together.

You exited the room after the little meeting was over, still wiping tears from your face. You’d kissed the top of Kennedy’s head before leaving, muttering: “I love you, so much”. It hurt that she couldn’t repeat the endearing phrase back.

When you exited, Soap was standing at the door with crossed arms, glaring at Shawn and Kiara- both who seemed to be waiting to enter. Kiara stood behind Shawn, gripping his arm and hiding from the glare Soap was sending. When you stood next to him, however, the Scottish man slightly relaxed and asked if everything was okay.

“One second.” You walked over to Shawn, clenched your fist, and swung your fist directly at his nose- ignoring the crack and cry you heard coming from him. “I hope you go to jail for this.” Then motioned for Soap to follow you out of the hospital.

Taglist: @redpool, @calicokitkat, @abbiesxox, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @tescomealdeals-blog, @judachoo, @cabreezer0117, @reiya-djarin, @cutiecusp, @m0chac0ffee, @cassie-vizsla, @seasaltt99, @lazy-kari202, @comedinewithmeyeah, @somnibats, @badpvn, @peachy-is-obsessed, @bookoffracturedghosts, @dorck26, @adeptusnunya, @wonusbitch, @m00vp, @user1727381919

#simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain price #alejandro vargas #ghost and doc #angst #slow burn #ghost mw2 #ghost x female reader #ghost x you

[teecupangel]

i am already unfathomably attached to the transistor au (sent the same day you first posted the ask), and would love to hear more about how he breaks away from Lucy and the assassins. like, does he still do some Ezio memory diving with Shawn n Becca n Lucy before going AWOL? did Altaïr tell Desmond about Lucy's betrayal or did they figure it out based on Altaïr being suspicious of her and going digging?

does her death spur Becca and Shawn and/or Bill to start looking into Lucy or do they double down on the "she’s our friend and we trust her"?

im loving the stargate/tok'ra vibes of transistor in general, but especially having read stargate brotherhood by the ever-lovely esama. do Desmond and Altaïr like share brainspace or is it more than they just communicate telepathically?

and just for my own visuals, how does Des wear Altaïr’s sword? like at his hip or (stretching believability) on his back? horizontal at his lower back?

(anyways thank you for answering, your ideas are always so wonderful and inspiring and it’s actually kind of a problem when I just want to write something for all of them. but thanks, I hope you and yours are doing well 🧡)

The Transistor AltDes AU for those curious.

He didn’t need to break away from the Assassins because he and Altaïr decided to kill every single red in Abstergo’s Rome facility… which includes Lucy.

They run away afterwards, with the Sword of Altaïr having the properties of a Sword of Eden, including a shockwave that manages to destroy surveillance cameras and other recording devices.

The most they were able to save from the recording are videos of Desmond walking before the sword glows gold and the recording ends.

They don’t necessary thought it was Desmond until they learned that Lucy died by being beheaded. Others died from puncture wounds the size of the Sword of Altaïr in vital points of the body or, strangely enough, by what appears to be something similar to thunder strikes (this is, of course, a capability of the Sword of Eden as seen in AC Unity).

Becca and Shaun definitely believes that Desmond has fallen into the madness of the Bleeding Effect and they’re torn between wanting to save him because they believe it’s not his fault, it’s the Bleeding Effect, but also they can never forgive him for killing Lucy.

Bill is actually the one who believes there’s more to it because he believes that Bleeding as Altaïr wouldn’t have Desmond go on a killing spree. He saw Lucy as an enemy that needs to be cut down and, not only that, he might even believe that Lucy being the only one beheaded among them means something (it does, beheading is a common punishment for traitors that must die for the Levantine Brotherhood and it is also the way Umar Ibn-La'Ahad is executed by the Saracens).

Of course, Bill and Rebecca thinks Bill is doing this because he wants to protect his son (which is also true but Bill is also being logical about this)

Oh man, yeeessss. I love Stargate Brotherhood, mainly because I love Stargate and I love esama’s works hahaha. For this one, I think it would be fun if they believe that they’re just telepathically communicating but the truth is it’s sorta true? They’re communicating telepathically… for now but the more Desmond and Altaïr stay together (aka: they talk telepathically), the more their brains sorta… connect with one another. This is a key to how Altaïr can save Desmond later on as I have written in the reblog of the original ask.

My initial idea is that Desmond actually holds the scabbard on his left hand like Virgil in DMC because the sword itself is a one-handed sword so it would work.

But when he’s trying to go incognito, my first thought was a drawing/blueprint storage tube because I remember Blood the Last Vampire XD

But then I remember it looks like this:

And that won’t work because of the wing crossguard of the Sword of Altaïr.

Unless…

the wings can be folded which becomes a clue that the sword can change its form in some ways.

(Thank you! I would absolutely love it for you guys to write these ideas because there’s so many that I can’t do it myself but no pressure. I’m just happy to read your asks, reblogs and replies to any of the ideas I post XD)

#transistor altdes au #ask and answer #no usual tags because #altdes #ngl this made me want to rewatch blood the last vampire #i loved that anime as a kid #and the live action is pretty good too

[auriel187]

The More Things Change. (S1 E9)

Word Count: 3479

Series Masterlist

A/N: If anyone doesn't like the fact that the oc is black, go away.

"We provide the colonists with all their finished manufactured goods. We deserve remuneration." Minkus says clearly.

"General Washington." Mr. Feeny turned over to Cory who was wearing a powdered wig.

"Fine. Keep your goods. Like we need your stinking British goods. We're American. We're independent. We'll get our goods from Japan." Cory raised his fist. I worry for him sometimes.

The class all laughed. I was drawing. I had drawn my friends in so many different ways. Shawn as an artist, Cory as a filmmaker. Shawn as a superhero, Cory as a mad scientist. Shawn as a photographer, Cory as a teacher. It was starting to garner some attention though, Cory kept trying to look over at my drawings. I had just started my sketch of Cory as a General. Shawn's gonna be a Sargent, I felt right in my bones.

"General, I'm dying for you to elaborate." Mr. Feeny deadpanned.

"What's the point, Mr. Feeny? We all know we kicked British butt." Cory threw his fist in the air.

"Winners and losers aside, General. If we do not understand history we are doomed to repeat its mistakes." Mr. Feeny explained. I often wonder how often things repeat themselves. Over the years, history seems like it was taking a step forward just to backtrack in a horrendous way.

"Oh, who cares about George Washington? Who cares about King George? Was every boring guy in history named George?" Cory exclaimed exasperatedly, before realizing what he said. "I meant every dead boring guy." He amended.

"Apparently, the past holds no fascination for you." Mr. Feeny stated, looking up at the boy.

"No. It's happened. It's done." I shifted in my seat. I understood both of their points of view but I didn't think anyone was thinking of the elephant in the room.

"It's history." Mr. Feeny said and I slowly lowered my head. Shawn kept looking over at me, either out of concern or curiosity.

"I'm saying. Perhaps we should study your history, Mr. Matthews." Our teacher said, looking at Cory expectantly.

"I have no history, Mr. Feeny. I'm eleven. I'm more interested in my future." Cory reasoned and I lowered my head even lower and continued sketching.

"Oh, well, then it might be more interesting for us to look into our futures to see if we can avoid our mistakes before they happen." Mr. Feeny explained as he stood up, then the classroom fell silent. I peered up slightly to see something that rarely ever happened. Shawn had his hand up. "Yes, Mr. Hunter?"

"Isn't that what we're doing anyways? Sunshine says that the things we learn in History are written by the people who want to control the world's precipitation." The blue eyed boy said calmly, causing everyone to look at him in shock. I didn't look at him like that though. I was just proud that he listened and understood what I had said while talking to Brianna.

"See! History is bogus! We're already working off of a faulty recipe, why not let us figure it out on our own?" Cory looked at our teacher. Mr. Feeny just smiled at Cory. Oh dear.

"Oh no, I smell an assignment." Shawn shrank in his seat.

"I swear, I didn't see it coming." Cory whined as he took his seat.

"The assignment for all of you is to create personal histories for yourselves as if you were returning for your 20th high school reunion." Mr. Feeny explained to the class and I looked at my drawings. I had no clue what I wanted to be.

"More like a preunion." Minkus said.

"Well said, Mr. Minkus." Mr. Feeny agreed. "You are the graduating class of the year 2000. What is your profession? Do you have children? Are those children tormenting their sixth-grade teacher?"

"Mr. Feeny, would it be oK if I brought my wife?" Minkus asked.

"Oh, come on, Minkus, what's going to marry you?" Shawn huffed out.

"Raven-Anniya!" Minkus sat up straighter. The class 'oohed'.

"No." I looked up from my drawing for a second.

"Oh please, you're smart enough to know I'm your only compatibility." Minkus tried to reason. Coercive of him but okay.

"Part of marriage has to be communication, consent and connectivity." I looked over at him with my 'logical face.' I've come to find that Minkus responds best to my logical face. "I've communicated my disinterest. I gave no consent and to be honest the only thing we got to connect is our above average intellect." I looked back at my sketchbook.

"You tell him, babe." Shawn ruffled my hair proudly.

"Then I'll bring my second wife." Minkus stated like it was simple.

"Cause the first wife worked out so well. What's marrying you this time?" Shawn asked, tossing a ball in the air.

"Topanga." Minkus bragged.

The class oohed again. She turned to him "Why, Stuart, I'm flattered that you would consider me as a potential life mate, but I'm not sure I even recognize the institution of marriage."

"Trust me, babe, I've seen the future... and it's me." Oh dear god!

"You're going to have HR on speed dial and a really good defence lawyer for each and every one of your misconduct allegations." I quipped, not looking up from my drawing.

+=+=+=+=+

I was still trying to think of what I wanted to be for the pre union. I kept drawing blanks, Shawn kept tossing things up but nothing really felt right. "Why not? You're already the smartest person I know."

"Puppy, I can't be a teacher! I can barely talk in school enough as it is." I shot it down.

"You can talk when you're passionate about something." He started playing with my hair.

"No I don't. I'm passionate about a lot of things, I just don't think most things out loud. When I do talk to the class, I just pretend I'm only talking to you and Cory.

"You pretend you're talking to me when you rip on Minkus and Topanga?" He spoke in disbelief. He was right.

"No...but I only say what no one else would say to them." Shawn moved to sit behind me as he tied up my hair. He had been working on doing twists in my hair. I'm not really sure why but he seemed really interested in styling my hair.

"I can't believe you." Cory took his seat, staring at Shawn and shaking his head. Larry took the seat next to him as he started eating his food.

"...What?"

"First you tell me you're going to show up as a tire salesman, and now you're braiding Raven-Anniya's hair?"

"That's what my dad does. And Sunshine's got great hair."

"So?" Cory looked at him like Shawn lost his mind.

"I know what to wear. I know how to use a pressure gauge. I can spot a retread from a mile away." Shawn turned my head to the side so he could do a crown hairstyle with the twists.

"Shawn, you're so boring." Cory shook his head in disappointment.

"And lazy." Shawn said proudly, starting to colour in the sketches I made earlier.

"How about you, Larry?" Cory asked the smaller boy seated across from me.

"I got an angle." He said ominously.

"Let's hear it." Cory encouraged, waving his hand.

"I'm going to be a sixth-grade teacher. Better yet, I'm going to be Feeny." Larry boasted. I rolled my eyes. He's not going to do well.

"Why?" Shawn asked.

"Imitation is the sincerest form of butt-kissing." Larry reasoned, and I must admit, he's not wrong.

"Wait a minute. Weren't we supposed to be what we wanted to be? I mean, you're going to grow up to be your dad... and you're going to grow up to be a Feeny clone. Am I the only one left here with some vision? Raven's probably just going to grow up to..." I knew where Cory was going with it. I was just glad he caught himself before he actually said it. Shawn quickly punched Cory in the arm.

"What are you going to go as?"

"Cory Matthews... center fielder for the Philadelphia Phillies." I had to admit, that was probably the most hysterical thing I've ever heard in my life. Both Larry and Shawn seemed to agree, erupting in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. "What are you laughing at?"

"You had 31 errors in Little League last season." Shawn explained, gasping for air.

"OK, so I didn't play up to my enormous potential. Come on, guys, let's be what we really want to be. Are we going to be men... or are we going to be men with boring jobs?"

"We're going to be men!" Larry exclaimed, and the boys started barking. Why were they barking? Suddenly Shawn went wide eyed and looked over at me.

"Sunshine, you can be Nina Simone!" The amount of things that shocked me with that statement was unbelievable.

"You know who Nina Simone is?" Shawn nodded quickly.

"She sings Black Bird! You could be her!" How did I forget Shawn's love for finding songs about black birds?

"I'm not following."

"You could be a famous person who calls attention to serious issues!" He looked at me with the biggest goofy grin on his face. He reached into his bag pulling out my superhero picture. "You could be a real life superhero, Sunshine."

+=+=+=+=+

Shawn and I played sandman in the park before he walked me home. I enjoyed the moments where we were just together and we didn't have to say anything, but the times we laugh and joke are my favourite. "So what are you doing for the Pre-Union?" I asked as Shawn carried me on his back. I kept tapping his shoulder so he'd avoid large cracks.

"I really don't know." He swung the door open, toeing off his shoes. I hopped off his back and put down our bags on the floor as I removed my shoes. "I was thinking of coming as a tire salesman."

We walked to the table and I gave him a plate of cookies. "I thought you said you were going to do something else." I started looking through old pictures until I saw one of my parents.

"Sunshine, are you..." He pulled my hand to see the picture. His eyes softened as he pulled me in for a hug. I'm pretty sure I was experiencing a breakdown because suddenly we were on the floor and Shawn's shirt was soaked from my tears. "I'm sorry, Raven." I don't know how long we stayed like this but he started to pull me back in my seat. "Here." He passed me a picture from a few years ago. I was smiling and dressed in my dance costume and my hair was in a low ponytail. This was before I put on the makeup.

"Thanks Shawnie." I smiled. He smiled back at me. "So...a tire salesman?"

"I think so, yeah." He shrugged. "I can see that in my future. Easy job, nice house...gorgeous wife." He lowered his head a bit when he said the last one. I started chuckling, planning on teasing him a bit.

"Who's gonna marry you?" I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms.

"I don't know...I was thinking someone short, smart, witty, talented, know-it-all, bookish..."

"You know you just described Minkus right?" I started rocking on my chair.

"As I was saying, someone who makes me smile, who makes me feel like I'm more than just trailer trash..." the last one kinda made me sad. "Someone who tries to get me to do my homework with cake and who has the most amazing hair even though she doesn't let me see it in its natural state advocist artist." He finished and I laughed.

"The word is 'activist', Puppy, and I'd rather marry a garden gnome." I poked him in the forehead.

"You'd choose to marry Minkus over me?" He poked my forehead.

"No!" I cringed and began pushing my chair away. A devious smirk spread across his face.

"You said that the only way you could talk to people is if you imagine that you're talking to me and Cory..." I nodded slowly before he pulled my chair back. "Who're you going to imagine when you have to say I do?"

"I'm not going to marry you Puppy!"

"Please? I want to have a wife in the future."

"You do realize that this assignment has no real effects on our future, right?" I asked and he shrugged. Why do I even bother? Shawn got down on the floor and held up an old ring. "Where'd you get that?" I asked in awe and fear. It looked like a real stone encrusted in silver.

"My mom. She said she bought it with money from a dancing competition. I figured you'd like it." I smiled down at him.

"YOU STOLE A RING FROM YOUR MOM?!" I exclaimed. Shawn just laughed.

"Of course not. She was chucking a bunch of stuff and I asked if I could have this one. She said she didn't care." He explained. "I figured it'd be a great way to propose to my project wife."

"That's sweet, Pup." He smiled. "But I'm not marrying you for the project." He pouted but he smiled softly and slid the ring on my index finger. It was a bit loose but not enough to slide off my finger.

"I still think you should keep this." He stood back up and we continued working on our projects together.

+=+=+=+=+

I walked into class wearing a black turtleneck over my favourite blue bedazzled jacket. I held a magazine Shawn had made entitled "Modern Heroes" close to my chest and the glasses I wore on days I had tests.

"Ms. Archer, pleasure to see you after all these years." Mr. Feeny spoke jovially. I offered my hand for him to shake, something I rarely ever did because people's hands are disgusting

"Hello sir. It's been a while." I replied. I had rehearsed this last night so much that Tamara and Adam decided to play along.

"Yes, it has. How have things been? What have you been up to?" He asked.

I took a deep breath and said what I practiced with Cory. "I have spent the last ten years working with Black, Indigenous and other marginalized communities to ensure that their voices are heard and not ignored by the public. As you know, the world has a tendency to put the voices of white males above everyone else's. I have worked tirelessly to fund searches for missing and murdered indigenous women. I have advocated my beliefs that those in non heterosexual relationships should be able to experience all of the same treatment of their heterosexual counterparts without discrimination and that more non straight, white, Christian narratives get told as regularly and freely through the media."

Mr. Feeny looked down with his brows raised. I'm not sure if he's impressed or not. "That's quite the portfolio, Ms. Archer."

"Thank you sir. Before I leave, would you be interested in signing my petitions?"

He smiled. "Of course. And what are we fighting for today?"

"I'm interested in composing a bill that prohibits the ability to inflate prices without ensuring that every citizen has equal or equitable access to basic human necessities such as food, housing, medicine and education." He signed that one with an agreeing nod.

"And the next one?" He asked, taking the second clipboard.

"That any and all prison inmates who have been wrongfully convicted, any family who's grieving the loss of a loved one due to police brutality, and any victim of violence (within proof and reason) will receive money from the untouched portion of American tax dollars." I stated.

"That's quite the mission. How do you think people are going to respond to that?" Mr. Feeny asked.

"Well, those who have something to gain from the victimization of these groups won't respond well. But they have to understand it's the system that made them victims, so it should be the system that should be charged." Mr. Feeny signed the next clipboard, not before adding a very large A to the top of my sheet.

"Bravo Ms. Archer. I'm excited to see what your future looks like." He smiled and turned away.

I was beaming, taking a seat by the door awaiting my boys. I was fiddling with the ring on my finger when Cory, dressed like a member of the Phillies, jogged into class. "Oh, Cornelius, you didn't." I cringed at him. "Why couldn't you choose to be a basketball player? You're good at basketball!" I whined.

"You think I'd end up over twelve feet tall?" He quipped back sarcastically and I had to concede because he was right. Allan was only about 5'10. Cory and I just sat and waited for Shawn as we read a Captain America comic. I really liked Bucky.

"Raven-Anniya? What's your obsession with Bucky Barnes?" Cory asked, seeing me completely skip over the scene where he dies.

"I just like him. He's one of my favourites." I answered and was about to continue reading when Shawn walked in.

"A tire salesman. I can't believe you came as a tire salesman."

"And muffler specialist."

"What's with the big gut?"

"My dad's fat, my uncle's fat, my grandpa's fat. Let's face it, Cor, I'm going to be fat."

Cory left Shawn and I to have a turn with Feeny. "So...look what I found." Shawn reached into his pocket and pulled out a picture of us from many years ago. I remembered that day. When I was five, my mom and dad left for New York. I didn't really remember why but I did remember being sad because I was leaving my first friends from kindergarten. What I didn't remember until later, was that I not only used to live in Philadelphia but that I had met Shawn and Cory back when I pretended to be asleep at nap time.

+=+=+=+=+

1988

"Come on, Sweetie. You have to go inside." My dad was practically pushing me into the building. I was refusing to go back inside because of the day before. A girl had stuck a wad of gum in my hair and I was not interested in going back there.

"Hi Mr. Archer, Raven getting clingy?" My teacher asked and I glared at her. She made the executive decision to rip out my hair in order to get the gum. She then asked a kid to get her some scissors.

"She tried to cut me!" I pointed to her and her face went white. I wasn't the most articulate 4 year old. I also didn't understand the weight of an accusation like that but to be fair...you should never try to cut a child's hair to remove gum.

My teacher started laughing nervously. "What an active imagination your daughter has." She looked so uncomfortable.

I just looked at my dad and pointed to the small section of my hair that still had some remnants of the gum despite my best efforts to get it out. My mom said she'd cut it properly on the weekend. I guess she didn't tell my dad.

"Did you...try to cut her hair?" My dad asked, lifting me up.

"I was only trying to help. I suggested that I cut it out but she didn't want me to so I let it go." She said, almost pleading with my dad to believe her.

"But miss, you asked Cory to get you the scissors." A little boy stood at the door next to another curly haired boy.

When my dad put me down, the first boy walked up to me and looked in my hair. His friend looked up at my dad. "Use coke. It worked for me when my brother put gum in my hair." I remember my dad looking at these 2 boys then bursting out laughing.

"Okay, Ray. Daddy's gonna go now, but be good and make new friends." He pushed me into the boys before he pulled out his camera. I never understood why he walked around with it. "Now say CHEESE!"

+=+=+=+=+

Present day.

I looked at the Polaroid picture before turning it over. In my dad's handwriting. 'My baby's KG wedding.' I scoffed and rolled my eyes. "Why do you have this?" Shawn peeked over my shoulder for a second.

"So I can show Feeny that we're married." He said before running to our teacher.

"SHAWN, NO!!!"

(A/N: Adding more backstory also Shawn being the chaotic child I believe him to be. Thanks for reading)

#please dont steal #my story #black reader #boy meets world #shawn hunter x oc #black oc

[iliaclwrites]

You really don’t have to, but I would LOVE to read it. I’m a huge fan of the librarian reader series (maybe because it’s closer to my personality and it makes me giddy) but I would really love to see a one shot of Eddie and librarian! Reader in their high school years, just cuts of the multiple times Eddie tried asking her out. And maybe her brother being protecting of her…. Not like hating Eddie, but just giving him that like “Don’t hurt her” kinda talk. Or a short of her brother visiting town and getting to tell the kids how much fun it was to watch Eddie crush over his sister for so long until she finally accepted! Again, you don’t have to, I just think it would be really cute to see one of those or both either separately or in one story. You’re writing is really good! And it brings me a lot of joy! Thank you!

Your brother settled down at the table in your little living room, taking in the Hellfire gang that had settled around him. He'd agreed to play a one-shot when he was over this Christmas, christening your spare room as your first adult overnight guest. You smiled at him brilliantly, and adjusted your notes, Eddie's fingers finding you knee under the table.

"Now," Greg said, looking over at all of you before he looked down at the rule sheet. "Some ground rules. One, no shouting over each other. Two, please don't be weird and gross, there are children here," he said, nodding at Erica.

"I'm eleven, baldy," she snapped, before pausing. "But I appreciate it, thank you."

"No worries," Greg said, and looked back at all of you. "And third, the cardinal rule, the one that's been in place since the Year Of Our Lord 1979--" Eddie froze his ministrations under the table. "Please, Edward Munson, don't make googly eyes at my sister. Forever and ever, amen."

You groaned. "Is that still really a rule?" you demanded, looking over at the sheet. "You laminated this? You bastard."

He shrugged. "I had to keep pointing at it. That kid was fucking relentless."

Eddie buried his head in his hands. "Well, she's my girlfriend now, can we just move on with it?"

"Uh, no," Greg said, crossing his arms. "I was traumatised, Munson. You asked her out so many times in-character it was almost harassment. Your bard wrote her a song."

Dustin grinned, and leaned forward on the table. "Do tell."

You buried your head in your hands as your brother scoffed. "Which time?"

"The first?"

"Kill me," Eddie whispered. "Swiftly, with that chair leg. Please."

Greg coughed, and shifted in his seat. "Well--"

You were twelve. Your brother ruffled your hair as he sat you down in the auditorium, pulling out his own folding chair as he shushed everyone at Hellfire club. "Now, now. So, Tony and Marta are off sick," he said, rifling through his papers, "I did my duty and pulled my sister to sub, as per, but Shawn? Your second is...?"

Shawn nodded, and glanced at the door. "On his way. Yeah. He lives near me in the trailer park. He said he's always wanted to play."

You grinned. You loved rookies. It wasn't often that Greg let you sub in, citing the violence and the generally... rambunctiousness of the Hellfire crowd. But, when they were low on numbers and desperate, you could always count on your brother bringing Tinuviel into the story somehow.

The door slammed open. "Sorry I'm late," came a voice, as a lanky figure sprinted into the auditorium. "Sorry, sorry, I was being yelled at by Mr. Clarke about tests, and--"

"You!" you cried, rising up in your seat.

Eddie Munson gaped at you.

Greg quickly stood up. "This that kid that's messin' with you?" he demanded immediately, drawing himself to his full height. "The one on the football team?"

Eddie fumbled. "Wha- ah, no!" he said quickly, holding his hands up. "That's Patrick Burns! He's a dick! I'm not him! She's the girl who socked me in the eye last week."

Your brother looked at you. You nodded. He pulled you to the side. "You punched him?" he muttered, knitting his eyebrows together. "He lyin'?"

You shook your head vehemently. "He's telling the truth," you mumbled. "He had the only copy of Fellowship in the library. It was overdue by two months."

"Seven weeks," Eddie corrected, and you whipped around. He ducked slightly. "Sorry, sorry."

"Hmm," your brother said, and gestured for Eddie to sit. "Take a seat next to fair Tinuviel, Munson. We were just about to enter Rahasia."

"You punch well," Eddie muttered to you in the middle of the campaign. "For a girl."

You smiled at him, all teeth. "And you cry pretty," you sneered. "For a boy."

Eddie's heart jumped. Fuck.

--

"And it just went on and on," Greg complained, sipping at his water and staring down at his rapt audience. You were busying yourself with stacking some of the dice up, face bright red. Eddie was pointedly turned away from you.

"Hey, Tinuviel," Eddie said, pressing a book into your hand. "I, uh. I saw that the library copy of Two Towers had coffee all over it. And annotations. I know you hate those. So uh. I found this in my trailer."

You beamed at him. "Eddie! Thank you!"

Greg glanced down at the library copy of Two Towers inside his own backpack. What the fuck?

Or the time that you had your first boyfriend, some blue eyed blonde haired track star kid named Scott, and Eddie hadn't shown up to Hellfire for two weeks straight. You and Greg had to turn up to his trailer begging him to come back, and Greg realised that the boy hadn't even looked at him once, just leaning out of the trailer window like some winsome Juliet at you, his kid sister.

Or the time you DMed a campaign, Scott's letterman jacket slung around your shoulders, and Eddie's ranger flirted with every NPC you threw his way.

Or the time you showed up to school in a skirt for the first time, short and pleated and paired with knee high socks. Eddie's ranger was oddly silent that campaign. Greg didn't even want to think about that one.

Or the time he walked in on you and Eddie at the park, you asleep on your best friend's chest as he read aloud to you from the Smith of Wootton Major. Greg crept away.

--

"The lamest bit," your brother said, stealing a handful of chips from the middle of the table as Eddie curled up into a little ball of humiliation, "is that they actually tried to keep dating a secret from me. From me."

You groaned, and Eddie threw his arms around you, looking up at the ceiling. "Haven't I suffered enough?" he demanded the heavens. "Lord, please."

You huffed in agreement. "Greg, come on."

"Nah," Lucas said. "Shut up. I wanna hear this."

Greg grinned.

"I'm not blind, you know," Greg said, watching Eddie Munson crawl down the drainpipe.

"Jesus cocksucking Christ!" Eddie shrieked, leaping backward into your mother's gardenias. Greg sighed, and took a long drag of his cigarette. "How long've you -- I-- You--" He sighed. "I'm assuming you won't believe me if I said I was just gardening?"

Greg laughed drily. "Rather late to be trimming the verge, Samwise Gamgee," he said, and raised his eyebrows. "You ever gonna come clean about it?"

Eddie rubbed the back of his neck. "Tinuviel wanted to keep it a secret," he admitted, fishing around for his own packet of cigarettes. "She thinks your mom would freak."

Greg snorted. "Our mom loves you, Eds," he said, lighting the tip of Eddie's cigarette for him, nodding at Eddie's grunted thanks. "She's waiting for you to ask."

Eddie's mouth opened and closed as Greg smoked. "I have asked," he said finally. "Loads of times!"

"In quite so many words? Hey, Tinuviel, be my girlfriend?" he asked, and Eddie frowned. "Mm. You've asked her out in-game. Hell, you guys were married in that one campaign--"

"We were fourteen!"

"Why won't you ask her properly, then?" he asked, and turned to look at Eddie properly. "Look, Eds, you're my brother, you know that. And I know you're not gonna ever be the one hurting her. This isn't that kinda talk. So why are you two sneaking around like this a pair of level five rogues in Saltmarsh?"

Eddie said nothing for the longest time. "I just," he started, looking out into the night. "If I have her," he said slowly, "that means I can lose her."

Greg blinked.

"Like. She's not mine right now. We're not dating. She could go off and kiss someone else at a party and I won't have to get mad because that won't matter, right? Like, we're going to prom together as friends because that meant she wouldn't have to turn me down as more than friends. There's no losses. This isn't gonna be, I dunno, the biggest heartbreak of my life when she finally goes off to college and marries some investment banker that lives somewhere in New York. We're just friends. So we can stay friends. And I won't have to be the idiot guy that fell in love with the prettiest goddamn elf dancing in the glade."

Greg swallowed slowly. "That was lame," he said finally.

"Fuck you, man," Eddie laughed, and grinned at Greg. "You know what I mean."

Greg shrugged. "She's worth it," was all he said. "You know she is."

Eddie sighed. "I'll ask her after grad," he said finally. "So she can leave easy after the summer, and I won't have to see her when she eventually says no."

Greg shook his head. "She won't, you know."

"Nah. I don't."

--

Eddie fiddled nervously with his rings as Greg excused himself from the Hellfire table for a smoke break, following the older man out. "This is familiar," Greg said, glancing at Eddie on the porch.

Eddie smiled nervously. "I mean. I guess," he said weakly, glancing inside at where you were herding the kids around the table for lunch. He watched as your ringed hands danced through Dustin's hair, pulling plates of roast chicken toward the boys. "I mean, I finally nutted up and did it."

Greg snorted. "I mean, sure." He paused for a moment, and watched as Eddie attempted to say something. "Dude. Whatever it is you're gonna say, you have my blessing."

Eddie froze. "What?"

"I'm not stupid," Greg murmured. "Never have been."

"No, I know--"

"So ask her," he said, rocking back on his heels. "Go and get her, Beren."

#eddie munson x female character #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x librarian #s: the song of beren and luthien

[alarrytale]

Hi Marte! I might be wrong ofc but I can't see Niall queerbaiting. He's always been a big lgbt+ ally and has many queer friends, wouldn't they look down on him for it? Obviously during 1D there was a lot of pressure put on them to be straight due to having a female audience. I'm wondering if as time went on Niall realized he wasn't straight. I think that Harry, Louis, Zayn and Liam knew from the beginning. Maybe it took Niall longer to figure it out. Although I remember years ago, I don't follow him as closely now, he would often post instastories with men and I got queer vibes rather than platonic. I'm super curious about his recent queer coding and that people are now taking notice and questioning his sexuality. It seems really intentional. I'm excited to see where it will lead to and will be really disappointed if he returns to pushing heterosexuality. The constant back and forth celebrities do is so irritating. I understand why they do it but it would be great for the lgbtq+ representation if more celebrities actually came out. The conservatives always bleat on about how homophobia doesn't exist anymore and that there is gay privilege but in the same breath they are always targeting lgbtq+ people, like especially Sam Sm*th, and they're still crying over Harry's vogue photoshoot and constantly bringing it up. More out celebrities would normalize queer musicians, actors etc. I wish for that one day. Btw I noticed that Shawn is back in the studio so we'll probably have new music soon. Pretty interesting because twitter music prediction accs have been saying that Shawn, Harry, Justin B*eber are releasing music this year, and now Shawn posted a pic in the studio. Makes it more probable that they're right and we'll have Harry music too! Do you think Shawn will go deeper into the closet? I worry for his mental health and I get the feeling there is a lot of inner struggling going on. Do you think he'll give in?

Hi, anon!

I think you're on to something. It might be that it took Niall a bit to come to terms with his sexuality. Hate to disappoint you, but Ameli* was at his show last night and he sang to her (all captured on film and posted on twitter of course...) so the back and forth is already happening. If he is queer and his relationship with A is fake, maybe he's allowed to push the queer as long as he balances it out with stunting. Like both H and L have to balance the straight and the gay?

One reason for Niall to queerbait is if he's not selling out his shows. He needs the extra attention that comes with queerbaiting to draw larries and other fans to his shows. Having Shawn on stage and flinging his hanky about sure looks like queerbaiting when he's serenading his gf the next show...

I don't know about Shawn. I know to little, but i'm expecting a stunt when his album comes out (single in april and album in june is what the insider accounts are saying). I hope he comes out because i think it would benefit him immensely, in many ways. I don't think his label is on board with that though. We'll have to see.

#niall #solo niall #queerbaiting #shawn mendes #shiall

[rainbowspinch]

Au ramble Lmao

The worst thing about this au is that I am physically incapable of expressing how in depth some of these characters are in drawings.

No one can truly know how Prophet Sammy broke down after having to remember how badly he hurt someone he cared about. No one will ever truly understand the way Sammy’s fucked up little apartment looks or get the reference to The Chickens. No one will know about the pre-studio cult junk or that we talked about Bertrum retiring at age 12. How will anyone know the grief Wally learned about that let him and Tom be so close? How will anyone understand that Norman was always Susie’s first follower, even before he was Projectionist, and that he has always cared about her, no matter if she’s changed?

How will anyone get how much Shawn and Wally care about one another, even if they’re constantly bickering? How could anyone understand that Allison Angel can’t find peace in herself, because she doesn’t know who herself is, and why she’s here? How will anyone know about the way Joey tried to be a good person, but his ambitions still got the best of him, or that Simmons would have walked to the ends of the Earth for him? How do I express how much Malice truly hates herself, or how much it means to her when people call her ‘Alice’ without her having to tell them to, even when they already know who she used to be? How do I explain the way people find comfort in Norman’s watchful gaze, even though most would consider it creepy? How do I characterise someone enough that they could figure out who Norm’s favourite Disney Princess would be? That they could pick up on the little random quirks some characters have? The way Malice and Allison Angel clasp their hands the way Toon Alice would? The way every time Projectionist says a swear word, it’s in Sammy’s voice? How Jacob, despite being chaotic, truly is caring and welcomes all with open arms? The way Joey knew instinctively that Tom would love Bendy-Bot, and immediately brought him to Bendyland to show him? How Sammy and Susie share hair-care products because even though they don’t live together, they spend all their time at each other’s houses? How Jacob would emphasise calling Malice ‘Alice Angel’ because he knows that’s how she likes to be know? The way he treats every day like his job is to cause trouble, just cause that’s the way he is and he thinks he’s funny?

How do I express how characterised some of these people actually are in a drawing?

I dunno, I don’t think I ever will be able to.

Still, I love them all <3

#we’ve spoken about this time and time again that no one will ever know them in full #unless they were there for every text message #every call #every random trip to the forum #every sleepover every walk to 7-11 #man #how do I express all that in a way other than words #bendy and the ink machine #batim #batim au

[tameodesza]

Dead Ends (BretShawn) ch.10

<<ch.9 | masterlist | AO3 link | ch.11>>

Summary: Shawn’s dreams continue to haunt him, and he and Bret experience a night they ever expected.

a/n: Gets NSFW towards the end 🫣

Date: May 23, 1996 Time: 7:49 am Location: Abandoned steel plant

Shawn was never good with apologies, but his actions always spoke louder than words.

Bret was slow to wake that morning, eyes squinting at the blinding light that filled the room. After rubbing his eyes clear, he was surprised to see that it was daylight. Had Shawn allowed him to sleep throughout the night?

After stretching, Bret turned his head to find two silver-wrapped sticks of gum lying beside him. He tilted his head inquisitively before sitting up and grabbing the gum in question. He toyed with them, turning them over in his hands in thought as a knowing smile crept onto his face.

Shawn’s gum was sacred to him, the blond never offering Bret a piece throughout all their travels. That combined with the fact that Shawn didn’t wake him in the night was enough to convince Bret that Shawn felt some kind of remorse for how he behaved, even if just a little.

Bret looked up towards the desk expecting to see the blond sitting there, but the spot was empty. He stood up and walked towards the window seeing Shawn outside sitting cross-legged on the ground, head resting sideways in one hand as he used a finger on his other hand to scribble mindlessly in the dirt.

Bret headed out seeing that Shawn was still sitting in the same spot, the blond now drawing circles in the dirt.

Bret sat next to Shawn, the blond not acknowledging his presence as he continued to scribble. Bret observed Shawn for a moment before saying, “I thought we weren’t supposed to leave each other alone.”

Shawn continued his illustrations, switching from drawing circles to swirly lines as he muttered, “Figured you’d want some space.”

With their tensions high, Bret could see why Shawn would feel that way.

Not wanting to dwell on their conflict, Bret said, “Thanks for the gum.”

Shawn’s finger halted, the blond thinking briefly before saying, “Don’t mention it.” He went back to squiggling lines in the dirt as the sound of chirping birds filled the air.

Bret made a move to stand thinking that would be the end of their conversation, but he still after hearing Shawn say softly, “You’re not a mistake, by the way”.

Bret raised a brow as his eyes landed on the side of Shawn’s face. The blond glanced Bret’s way before swiftly turning his gaze back to the ground, uttering, “What I said to you back in the woods, I didn’t mean it. I don’t think it was a mistake bringing you along.”

Shawn’s harsh words to Bret had been weighing heavily on his conscience ever since they left his lips. He’d said it purely from anger, just to get a rise out of the man. And it worked, but Shawn wasn’t proud of it. And with how volatile their relationship was, he never found a good time to tell him.

But with the blond in a repentant mood, he thought this time was as good as any.

Shawn didn’t elaborate any more than that, but it was enough to lift the weight from Bret’s shoulders, thankful that Shawn didn’t think so ill of him. “That means a lot, Shawn.”

Shawn nodded, not offering any more words as he shifted to drawing stick people in the dirt.

Bret watched him for some time, wondering what thoughts were swirling around in that blond head of his. That was always a hard guess as Shawn seemed to never express himself unless it was through anger. But Bret knew there had to be other sides to Shawn, a bit of that evidenced by Shawn’s actions that morning.

The question was if Shawn would ever allow him to find out.

With the heavy mood lifted, Bret felt a little mischievous, reaching out a hand and erasing over the lines Shawn had just drawn.

Shawn snapped his head up at Bret before grabbing a handful of dirt and throwing it Bret’s way. “You dick,” he said with not as much vitriol as Bret expected. “Why did you do that?”

Bret snickered, brushing the dirt from his pants before using his own finger to draw in the dirt. Shawn watched with curious eyes as Bret drew two vertical parallel lines and added two horizontal lines on top.

“Let’s play,” Bret said as Shawn looked to see that he’d drawn a game of tic-tac-toe. “X or O?”

Shawn’s brows were still furrowed at the audacity of Bret to erase his drawings. However, he agreed to play along, choosing to draw an X in the upper left box.

That’s how they spent their morning – getting lost in a game of tic-tac-toe.

For those short few hours, the world felt normal again. They weren’t two men barely making it by as they struggled daily to survive in a world full of Walkers. They were just two men enjoying a childhood game that reminded them both of happier times.

It wasn’t until the last few games that Shawn began to feel that it wasn’t so fun anymore. But only because he lost three times in a row.

After Bret won yet another game, Shawn kicked at the dirt complaining, “Man, this game is rigged!”

Bret let out a boisterous laugh, genuinely entertained by Shawn’s tantrum. “How? We’re only playing with our fingers and the dirt. Just admit that you suck.”

“I don’t-”

 “And you’re a sore loser.”

Shawn lightly punched Bret in the arm, the older man still laughing at his misfortune. Shawn further frowned saying, “Shut up before I stab you in your sleep tonight.”

There was no seriousness behind the threat, but Bret still quieted down, raising his hands in defense in case Shawn wasn’t playing. He slowly lowered his hands, a soft smile spreading onto his face as he saw Shawn setting up a new game.

This was the Shawn he liked to see. The one that, although still a bit rough around the edges, could be lighthearted, playful, funny even. Not everything had to be a battle with the younger man, and Bret wanted to keep it that way.

He was still unsure of why the man was so upset the night before, but he brushed the thought away, deciding to just enjoy the few times he and Shawn seemed to get along.

After their game, Shawn spent the rest of the day keeping himself busy. He’d repacked his bag, loaded and unloaded his guns, went back to drawing in the dirt, napped, and anything else that would keep him from thinking about the dream he’d had.

And all seemed to be going well until nightfall, Shawn’s mind betraying him as he had yet another wet dream about Bret.

Bret stood by the window unaware of the turmoil Shawn was experiencing behind him. That was until he heard Shawn sharply gasp before breathing heavily in a panic. He turned to see the blond sitting up struggling to catch his breath.

After what had happened the day before, Bret was unsure if he should check on Shawn. But he was his partner, and there was no way he could leave him panicking like that.

Bret walked to Shawn and kneeled next to him asking, “Are you ok? Shawn? Hey,” Bret waved a hand in the blond’s face, finally getting his attention.

Shawn swallowed to alleviate his dry throat, saying raspily, “Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t look so g-”

“I said yes!”

Shawn threw the blanket aside in a move to stand up, but stopped when he noticed Bret looking at his pants. Shawn looked down as well, both men staring at the blatant tent.

Shawn quickly covered himself, laying back down on the floor and turning away from Bret.

Bret stared at Shawn’s back in shock, unsure of what to say. He said lowly, “Shawn-”

“Let’s not talk about it.”

“But you’re…” Bret didn’t even know how to say it.

Shawn huffed. “I’ll sleep it off. Nothing to worry about.” But it was, his erection achingly present.

Bret crawled around to the front of the blond, saying earnestly, “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Shawn didn’t say anything, his eyes forced shut as he tried to make himself go back to sleep. But Bret could tell by the way the man squirmed under the blanket that he was uncomfortable. And he knew more than anyone the pain of blue balls.

Bret took a deep, not believing what he was about to say. He rubbed awkwardly at his neck, clearing his throat before saying, “I, uh…I could help you out. If you’d like.”

Shawn’s eyes flew open, shooting Bret daggers as he shot up in a fury. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“I, well,” Bret struggled to gather an explanation. “We’re both men. And… what’s happening is only natural.”

“And what the fuck does it have to do with you?”

Seeing where this was going, Bret backed off. “You’re my partner and we have to look out for each other. It was only a suggestion, Shawn.”

Bret stood up and headed back towards the window praying they’d be able to move on from this.

Shawn laid back down trying to forget about it, but the situation in his pants was not going away. If anything, his tightly clenched legs seemed to only make it worse.

Shawn tried to recall the last time he pleasured himself, remembering that it was some days before Bret arrived at his cabin. So quite some time ago. And with Bret always being around, it’s not like he had much alone time to quickly rub one out.

But maybe that’s exactly what he needed. If it’d stop the disturbing dreams he’d been having, it was worth a try.

Bret was still trying to shake off what happened when he heard Shawn say quietly, “Ok.”

He looked over his shoulder, seeing Shawn sit up and throw off the blanket, his stiff problem still there.

“Ok, what,” Bret asked to be certain.

Shawn groaned to himself, feeling humiliated as he murmured, “You can…help me out. But you look the other way. I mean it.”

Bret swallowed as he nodded, “Ok.”

He got on the floor next to Shawn, giving a cautious look at the blond before undoing his pants. Shawn leaned back on his hands as he took in a deep breath. His nerves rose as Bret reached into his pants, breath hitching as soon as his cock was freed.

As promised, Bret didn’t look at Shawn, the older man focusing on the pretty cock in his hand standing proudly from its bushy base. He started slow, pumping along the shaft and keeping the pace steady as he twisted his hand up towards the tip.

Bret kept this up for some time as he listened closely to Shawn’s strained gasps, it soon becoming apparent that the younger man was suppressing his moans. After hearing Shawn’s breath quicken, Bret threw caution to the wind and looked at the blond in curiosity.

Shawn had his eyes closed, head thrown back and mouth slightly agape as a moan he could no longer hold slipped through his lips. His brows drew together as he slightly bucked up into Bret’s firm hand.

It was the hottest thing Bret had seen in months, and he couldn’t help being turned on himself. His thoughts then went back to Shawn at the camp stepping into the lake fully naked. Bret gulped, forcing himself to look away as his thoughts began to run wild.

His hand picked up speed, causing Shawn to let out more moans as he became wrapped up in his own fantasy behind his closed eyes. After a particularly hard tug, Shawn’s eyes clenched tightly as a warmth pooled in his stomach.

Shawn began bucking wildly into Bret’s hand, no longer self-conscious as he neared his finish. Just as he was about to come, he let out a strained, “Kev!”

Bret looked at Shawn upon hearing the unfamiliar name, but there was no time to think on it as the blond came, streams of white shooting out and trailing down his cock like a fountain. Shawn’s body trembled in a light shiver, his ears ringing at the intensity of his orgasm. His moans died down to light whimpers as Bret continued to milk him until he eventually softened.

Bret glanced at Shawn who looked completely spent, chest still rising and falling in short rhythms. As Shawn calmed down, Bret got up to retrieve an old, dried-up wipe off the desk to wipe his hand. He headed back to Shawn, catching the blond’s eyes that were following him in a lazy haze, watching intently as Bret kneeled next to him.

“I can do it myself,” Shawn said in a breathless protest as he reached out for the wipe.

But Bret pushed his hand away saying, “Stop being so stubborn,” before cleaning Shawn briskly.

As Bret wiped him clean, Shawn caught sight of the rise in the older man’s pants. That’s when reality set in for the blond, his post-nut clarity no longer fogging up his mind.

Shawn forcefully shoved Bret’s hands away before tucking himself into his pants. Without another word, he stood from the floor and headed towards the window, back turned to Bret as he sat on the edge of the desk.

And Bret guessed that was that. He sighed as he looked down at the bulge in his pants, not expecting Shawn to return the favor.

“I’ll be back,” he said as he headed out the room towards a nearby restroom.

“K,” was the only response he’d gotten from the blond.

Bret headed into a stall, quickly closing the door before unzipping his pants to pull out his cock. He leaned one hand against the door, his other hand pumping quickly as inappropriate thoughts and images of Shawn flashed across his mind.

He felt a bit creepy getting off just thinking about the man, but his attraction to Shawn had built up to this moment. It didn’t take long for him to climax, spilling somewhere on the floor in a heap as his gasps echoed in the tiny stall.

Bret stood there for a moment, head leaning against the door as he tried to calm his heart rate before tucking himself back into his pants.

This was hands down one of the oddest nights the two shared, tons of questions swirling in Bret’s mind. But as he made his way back towards the room, one question remained at the forefront.

Who was Kev?

#divider cr: @firefly-graphics #dead ends #zombie au #shawn michaels #bret hart #hartbreak #bret hart x shawn michaels #bretshawn #alternate universe #wwe fanfiction

[bylertruther]

No fun theories or smart analyses or hot takes HOWEVER i think that they shouldve gone further with possessed will. I know the point was that they werent supposed to figure it out but i imagine the little ticks a possessed person might have. We already got the darker/black eyes, but i think that instead of looking out of the corners, hed have to turn his head fully. Like his pupils wouldnt move. I also think a black tongue would be kind of cool. They should done more with the black veins that come out when the mind flayer is under duress i think its the coolest shit ever. Anyway. Hi 👋 ;) possessed will headcanons go crazy

LISTEN ... I AGREE ! i agree so bad, you don't even know how bad i agree, mal. you're so right.

in hindsight, i guess it makes sense why he wasn't Super Weird, but i remember thinking that it was such a tame possession by what we assumed to be an eldritch monster. like... you'd think he'd be creepy. this is something from another world trying to pass off as human—how is it doing so well on its first try? why is will still so... will? we know why now and it's also for Plot Reasons like you said, but .. still! 😠 u kno?

like, imagine if will had killed bob in the car like shawn levy said will did in one of their super early drafts. imagine his veins turning black, his actions quick and jerky and unnatural. so... just... wrong. like, that's clearly not will, but it's also not an animal. it's just something else—something you can't quite name. and then it goes back to will-will. the monster is a little stumped bc it didn't think this through. it didn't think abt the consequences. n then will has to deal with those consequences. really hammers home the whole trapped in ur own body thing and no one believing him abt what's real and what isn't.

orrrrr ! you know how The Particles look stormy? imagine if instead of his eyes just going dark, you could see the particles moving in them (if u look reeeaaaal close) when He's pulling the strings. or parts of will turning black, like his fingertips in your drawing. or his left hand, as a callback to the whole left hand and eye of vecna stuff. like the more possessed he gets the more the rot spreads. kinda like a zombie boy thing.

i kno it had to be subtle but. maybe just maybe. they should've considered tht i would've liked to see will unhinged and feral and eating fertilizer like the flayed in s3. maybe i Wanted to see him stalking toward mike (or anyone) all slow and calculated and unsettling, creeping forward like cats do. maybe i wanted to see him have exaggerated or too-flat emotions bc the Monster is trying to mirror everyone else, but keeps getting it wrong. or a scene where the Monster is talking but those are will's eyes and they're all red and shooting around n screaming everything tht his mouth won't speak. or smth where the Monster is taking control of his limbs, like when it choked joyce, but will is fighting back. trying to pry his hand from her throat, screaming tht he's sorry, screaming at the Monster to stop please stop. smth like tht. smth to really give u the heebie-jeebies.

like, maybe i Wanted to see him thrash and kick and scream abt n then when even mike piles in to try n restrain him will's head just whips his way and he's staring at him with those Big, Big Eyes of his and. and it's will. it's will that they're all piled on top of, will that looks at their arms n faces n sees his scratch marks, will that whimpers bc three grown adults n a 45lb mike are crushing him. will who grapples with the crushing guilt n shame before the Monster grabs the reins again n starts saying LET ME GO, LET ME GO, LETMEGOLETMEGOOOO and the lights are flickering n flickering n flickering n joyce is begging him to calm down n mike is saying will, it's okay, you're okay, it's just us, you're okay n Everything Is So Loud And Keeps Happening And . and . like i'm just saying . What If I Wanted To See That In My Scary Monster Show, Duffers. What If.

#possessed monster will hcs DO go crazy 🫡 #creepy things r my fave #asks #will

[bokatan]

So I'm listening to Reed's playlist for reasons, but I think you'd enjoy 'Burn the Witch' by Shawn James for him

(Also ya dudes hair is out to personally attack me istg what is this)

@fuzzydreamin

I actually have that song on Mercy’s playlist😅 it’s a good song!

& don’t even get me started on his hair oh my god. There’s no reason for it to be as hard as it is, and yet!! you’d think it’d be super easy since it’s so short and just goes wherever. literally took me months to figure out how to draw it somewhat consistently, and now I have no idea how to draw long hair

[obsidiancreates]

One Undead To Another (Chapter 8)

(Shorter one, trying to ease back into a tone a little closer to the show, hopefully the humor lands lol)

“I’m not sure Shawn going to jail is a good idea.”

“I know O’Hara, but even though you like him–”

“Not that, well, not just that. Closed quarters with people he’s arrested? Even if he’s… even if they can’t hurt him now, they can get hurt and bleed.”

“And?”

“And, he might kill someone again in the prison!”

“So he’ll take out some lowlife scum from inside! Better than him potentially taking someone good out out here.”

“That is… just an awful way to look at this, Carlton. You and I both know there are people with wrongful convictions stuck in there–”

“Barely.”

“-- and, what would that do to Shawn? I mean, have you ever seen him this… lost?”

Lassiter turns to look her in the eyes. “O’Hara. Who do you think would be right at the top of his potential victims list?”

“What?”

“It’ll be close friends, family, and colleagues.That’s not just Guster, that’s not just me, that’s you.”

“He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“He’s a vampire! Don’t turn this into some teen romance novel, you’re a target! Spencer even agrees with me on this one!”

“Uh, actually Lassie–”

They both scream and draw their guns, startling Shawn into holding his hands up again. Jules lowers her gun and puts her hand to her chest (and ignores the way Shawn follows the movement, stares at her chest, her heart, her blood under her flesh). 

“Jes–”

“Ah!” Gus interrupts Lassiter’s expletive. “I think we should all avoid saying the names of religious icons and figures as much as possible around Shawn. Just in case.”

“Oh, thanks, buddy, I didn’t even think of that. But um, sorry for scaring you, Lassie.”

“You see that, O’Hara? Silent movement, you won’t even know he’s on you until it's too late. Spencer, hold out your hands.”

“About that, Lassie.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Afraid not– the uh, the spirits, have… told me that’s not the right move.”

“The spirits.”

“Lassie, we literally saw dozens of ghosts when we rescued Shawn. You can’t still be doubting him. Mary told us he’s for real!”

“Also a weird crystal thing.” Shawn rubs his right palm with his left thumb. “But that’s, neither here nor there. I received several visions of what would happen if I got arrested, and none of them were good. Well, they were good in a horror movie sort of way, but… not an events-we-want-to-actually-happen sort of way.”

“Describing yourself as a horror movie isn’t helping your case here, Spencer.”

“Look, according to my visions, if I get locked up I won’t be able to help on cases anymore and The Spirits are insisting that not happen! I need to be out here, solving cases, getting justice!”

“Great. Let’s start with getting justice for the guy in your living room who doesn’t have any blood anymore.”

“Lassie–”

“Spencer. Shut your trap, and listen to me. Can you honestly say, without a shadow of a doubt, that any of us are not on the menu for you?”

Shawn opens his mouth… and hesitates, just a beat.

“That’s what I thought.” Lassiter stands and goes to slap the cuffs on.

“Lassie, what’s worse? A sane vampire who you can keep a personal eye on at all times, or an insane vampire who you have to rely on other people to handle?!”

Lassiter pauses. 

“Think about it, Lassie. You know me way better than some random prison or mental facility guards. You know how I work. And, you know I’m actually a vampire and a psychic– if the guards wherever I get sent don’t believe either of those, how will they be able to actually keep an eye on me? Plus, you think they have your skills? Man, you already fought vampires, and won! You know you can handle me, especially me!”

Lassiter is lowering the cuffs. 

“Plus, what’s a common theme in vampire or monster media, huh? Power of love, man! Isolation will just drive me away from humanity, every single story about this kind of situation proves it! Having a large support group will keep me out of the darkness, literally and metaphorically.”

Lassiter’s mouth twists. “Look Spencer, I agree that out of everyone I believe I could best take you down if you got out of line–”

“And I wouldn’t mind that, might even enjoy it.”

“– but, you killed someone. I can’t let you just get away with that.”

“So don’t!”

“What, am I supposed to just keep an eye on your twenty-four seven?”

“No, but– come on, Lassie, work with me! What do I have to do for you to feel satisfied with me not going to jail and going all Lost Boys after a few years?”

“... How often will you need blood?”

“I– Lassie, I didn’t exactly get a handbook for this, and you kind of killed the only people who could write one. Not that I’m mad about it! I’m remembering bits and pieces now and you and Jules were seriously sexy fighting like that.”

“Well can’t you divine what you’ll need?”

“It doesn’t work like that, Lassie.”

“Mary even confirmed that for us,” Jules pipes in. “He said whatever Shawn gets is at the whims of the universe.”

“He did? … That’s awesome. I’m using that, for sure.”

“... No cases.” Lassiter puts his cuffs away. “No cases, no leaving this apartment, and no talking with O’Hara until we figure out how often you need blood and how much.”

“Lassie. The isolation is why I can’t be put away, remember? I’m not– I’m not super stoked about this either, man, you think I’m not freaking out? I– I killed a guy, I didn’t even… I don’t want, to be a danger to you guys. But my vision was clear, it’s… the only way. I have to stay free.”

“... Fine. You can go between here and your office, but I’ll be the one driving you to keep an eye on you. Guster, I want crosses and any other vampire nonsense you know about at every exit so he can’t leave until he’s allowed to.”

“You wanna trap me inside our tiny office with a vampire?!”

“Dude! I thought you had confidence in me here!”

“I do! But you keep looking at my neck!”

“I do?”

“Yeah!”

“Are you sure? I don’t think I am. I think you’re imagining that.”

“You don’t even remember what happened tonight, you can’t trust your own perception right now!”

Shawn physically steps back at that one. It’s like Gus just shoved him and spit in his face, but the way his expression falls isn’t angry, or offended, it’s just… hurt. “... I guess you’re right,” he mumbles.

Gus takes a deep breath, his own expression falling with guilt, but before he can say anything Lassiter jumps back in.

“Blocking off exits, a guard while going from place to place, and I want Guster noting every behavior shift you have. If this gets worse, I’m arresting you, Spirits or no.”

“Okay. It’s… more than fair, for what I’m asking of you.” Shawn looks out at the doorway separating them and the living room. “Now uh… about that.” 

“I am not disposing of a body for you.”

“I don’t expect you to, Lassie. … Jules? Gus?”

“Shawn, I’m already at my limit with my own morals here.” Jules sighs deeply. “I don’t want you arrested either, but I don’t think I can help cover this up in such an active capacity.”

“... Gus?”

“If I touch that body, I’m going to throw up again.”

“... Great. So I have to become a murder victim, a killer, and a coverer-upper in the same night. Why is he the one throwing up out of stress?”

#psych #psychusa #psych usa #psych 2006 #fanfic #my attempts at fanfic

[kudosmyhero]

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (IDW) #31: Northampton - part 3

Read Date: May 30, 2023 Cover Date: February 2014 ● Story: Kevin Eastman ◦ Bobby Curnow ◦ Tom Waltz ● Script: Tom Waltz ● Art: Sophie Campbell ● Colors: Ronda Pattison ● Letters: Shawn Lee ● Editor: Bobby Curnow ●

**HERE BE SPOILERS: Skip ahead to the fan art/podcast to avoid spoilers

Reactions As I Read: ● Alopex and Raph playfuly sparring is damn cute

● yay Leo! ● 👏👏👏👏

Synopsis: Donatello and Casey are rebuilding a motorcycle and debating the merits of sabermetrics. Don thanks Casey for helping him, and Casey tells him it's no big deal, since it got him out of going to the library with April O'Neil. Casey tells Don that April's father John used to work at StockGen. Don laughs and thinks about his and Leo's conversation the other day about fate and destiny.

In the woods, Raphael is practicing tai chi when Alopex approaches him, saying she didn't figure he was the tai chi type. Raph takes a dig at her, asking her if tai chi isn't violent enough for the Foot. She tells him she was never in the Foot Clan for the violence, she just wanted to feel like she belonged somewhere. Alopex tells Raph how after she was mutated, she felt like a mix of two things that were never supposed to go together, like some kind of freak. She tells him how the Foot gave her a sense of belonging, like she had a family. Until she realized that she had a family, a real one, until the Shredder killed them. Raph sympathizes with her, telling her how after he was mutated he was on his own for a while, until he was finally reunited with his brothers and Master Splinter. Raph and Alopex share a rare moment of friendship, and then Alopex makes fun of Raph for practicing tai chi again. The two engage in a friendly sparring match.

Leonardo sits besides a pond and examines his katanas. He thinks back to when he and Raph fought while he was still under the influence of the Foot Clan's brainwashing. Leo begins training, until Splinter approaches and he pauses. Splinter asks him if he's heard that some people believe that a sword, once drawn, cannot be returned to its scabbard until it has tasted blood. Splinter explains that this is moreso a myth than any real creed, romanticized over the years. Yet, Splinter explains, all myths bloom from seeds of truth. Splinter tells Leo that a sword is merely an extension of the warrior who wields it, a tool, incapable of bloodlust, bloodlust being a human emotion. Leo asks what Splinter is getting at. Splinter tells him that the Shredder tried to make Leonardo his sword, and then deemed him a failure when he failed to draw blood. Splinter points out that a warrior's blade need not taste blood to be useful, and that Leo should not feel like a failure; it was the Shredder who failed. Leo doubts that Splinter really understands how he feels. Splinter tells him that there was once a time when he too felt the same way, but it was Tang Shen who helped him through it, who was pregnant at the time with the child who would be Leonardo's past human life. Splinter acknowledges that he knows Shen recently appeared to Leo to offer him guidance, much to Leo's surprise. Splinter tells Leo that he will not allow him to give up on himself, out of respect for Shen.

In the barn, Michelangelo is excited that Donnie and Casey have finished their work on the motorcycle. Mikey wants to take it for a test spin, but Don tells him that would blow their cover. Just then, April pulls up in her van and steps out to reveal a surprise—a new haircut!

As April and Casey drive up to April's parents' house, Casey asks her if she found anything out about StockGen. She tells him fire inspectors are looking into faulty wiring as a possible cause of the explosion, but she doubts it was anything like that. Casey asks what else is on her mind, as he can tell something is worrying her. April pulls out a vial of ooze which she brought with her to study, and with the help of her father's notes, she's figured it out. She says it's healing properties are near limitless, and even the tiny amount she has could heal any wound. She worries about how you decide what to use something so powerful on. Casey stops the van to tell her that she's overthinking things. He and Splinter are used to healing without the aid of magic ooze, and he knows who she's thought about using the ooze on, someone who could really use it—her father. Casey tells her that if she's sure its safe, she should use it to heal her dad. She tells him she cross-referenced the code on the vial with her father's notes and is sure its simply the healing ooze, not mutagen. April wonders how to give the ooze to her dad without telling him about it, which would lead to a lot of questions she can't answer without revealing the existence of Splinter and the Turtles.

In the barn, Splinter, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello, and Alopex are talking and eating sandwiches. Mikey wonders if its good or bad that StockGen is gone. Donnie says either way, its a shame that they've lost a link to their past, but in any case their main focus has got to be the Technodrome. Splinter uses this opportunity to tell his sons that before their fight with Shredder and the Foot, he infiltrated StockGen on behalf of Old Hob, to fulfill the favor he owed him by procurring some mutagen. Splinter and the Turtles guess correctly that StockGen's destruction was the work of Hob and Slash. At that moment, Koya and four Foot Clan assassins crash through the roof of the barn, interrupting their conversation. As Splinter, Don, and Mikey engage the Foot attackers, Raph notices that Alopex has slipped away, and immediately assumes that she conned them all and lead the Foot there to kill them. While Don and Mikey are occupied by the Foot assassins, Splinter battles Koya but is slowly overwhelmed. Koya asks Splinter if he is ready for the slaughter when Leo arrives and says, "That's funny, bird, I was gonna ask you the same thing."

(https://turtlepedia.fandom.com/wiki/Northampton,_part_3)

Fan Art: Only in the Darkness by dgLari

Accompanying Podcast: ● Shellheads - episode 62

#idw #idw comics #my idw read #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #comics #comic books #fan art #fanart #podcast recommendation #podcast rec #shellheads

[zombies-dni]

gender

#total drama #td shawn #td dave #dashawn #bugs // #praying mantis #drawr #i think i figured out how to draw shawn

[iliveiloveiwrite]

I wonder what it’s like to be loved by you // Benedict Bridgerton

Summary: You’ve loved him for as long as you can remember. Is this the season where he finally realises?

A/N: I LOVE BENEDICT. I love him so much. What do I have to do to get a Benedict? Title is from Shawn Mendes - Wonder. I had so much fun writing this fic, I can’t wait to write more for the Bridgerton fandom! I truly hope you all like it, let me know what you think please?

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, mentions of food and drink, fluff, pining, mutual pining, dancing, balls, obliviousness, friends to lovers, she/her pronouns, a lot of history - I am a historian after all and this is the regency era.

Word count: 4.8k

Lady Danbury never spared any expense on the balls she held every season. She knew full well that many a match could be made that night so there was not only pressure from the ton, but also a responsibility that this ball must outdo all others thrown before – by herself and other matriarchs in society.

A feat she always managed to achieve, the elder thinks to herself as she watches your eyes widen upon entering the ornately decorated room. Looking you up and down, she approves of your outfit – a dark blue dress punctuated with silver jewellery, hair twisted into an updo with only a few strands hanging loose to frame your face. From her spot across the ballroom, Lady Danbury wonders how you hadn’t married yet.

As the band strikes up, Lady Danbury walks into the fray, greeting her guests with a smile. All the while, she keeps a trained eye on you, wondering who on earth had captured your heart but had not noticed.

-------------

No matter how hard he tried, the charcoal would not wash from his fingers. Having scrubbed and scrubbed at his hands, Benedict could only offer you a smile of apology as you not only noted his lateness but the state of his hands.

“It’s very fortunate that you are a talented artist,” You comment with a teasing smile.

Benedict reaches for your hand, dropping a kiss to the back of it before answering. “I class myself as very fortunate to have a friend like you who understands how easy it is to get lost in a sketch or a painting.”

You roll your eyes, careful not to let anyone else but Benedict see your act of impropriety. He smirks, unable to help himself.

“You’re a shameful flatterer, Benedict.”

“Some might even call me a ‘rake’,” He replies, his tone teasing.

“I shall save that for when you’ve really annoyed me.”

He laughs; a loud chuckle that draws the attention of those closest to you. Most notably, Benedict’s mother, Violet Bridgerton and Lady Danbury.

Benedict clears his throat; cheeks flushed not only from the attention but from the knowledge that his mother would soon be making her way over to him. He adored his mother; was grateful for her every day, but he could happily admit he could live without the meddling in his love life. He grabs your gloved hand once more; kissing the back of it in parting before asking, “Save me a dance on your card?”

“Always,” You answer, watching his back as he stalks away. Benedict narrowly avoids being collared by his mother, an act to which you find yourself smiling at.

With thoughts of Benedict in mind, you wander around the outskirts of the ballroom, your dark blue skirts swishing pleasantly under foot. You pause only to grab a lemonade from the table, sipping happily at the cold drink.

You catch sight of the brunette that had stolen your heart dancing with Penelope Featherington and though you know there is no romance there, your heart is unable to stop the hurt that lashes through it. Schooling your face into a mask of polite delight, you force yourself to turn away from the sight of the man you had so readily given your heart to dancing with someone else.

“How long have you been in love with my brother?” A raspy voice asks from behind you.

Your lemonade splashes slightly as you turn to face your interrogator. “Eloise!” You laugh, smiling too wide to be comfortable, “Whatever do you mean?”

Eloise’s shrewd blue eyes narrow slightly as she takes in your dismissal. She waves her hand in the general direction of Benedict though you knew exactly where he was – could feel his location thrumming in your veins.

“Don’t play coy, (Y/N). It doesn’t become you. Now, how long have you been in love with Benedict?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? How long had you loved Benedict? Thinking back on it, you’re sure that you’ve always loved him. Your family had been good friends with the Bridgerton family for as long as you could remember. Your mother was always having tea with Violet and you were always thrust upon the eight siblings without much worry. Your friendship with Benedict had started in earnest when you had complimented his art skills, bringing up how you liked to draw too. From there, a close friendship was forged.

By your twentieth year on this earth, you realised that your feelings for the second Bridgerton were no longer platonic… that you craved something more. Falling for Benedict Bridgerton felt inevitable almost; that your heart was destined to be his whether he knew it or not.

Sighing heavily, you see no point in lying to the second eldest Bridgerton girl. “For as long as I can remember,” You admit, rushing to add on, “But he doesn’t know so please don’t tell him!”

Eloise’s eyes widen at your confession, not only shocked that you readily admitted your feelings for her elder brother, but for how long you have harboured them. “Is that why you have not yet married?” She demands, “Because you loved him?”

Biting your lip, you nod. “It wouldn’t be fair to my husband. Their wife in love with another man – it doesn’t exactly set stable foundations for a long, prosperous marriage and…”

“And…” Eloise prompts, her innate curiosity getting the better of her. If her mother could hear her now, she would surely receive a scolding.

You ball your hands into fists before letting them drop to your sides; letting them hang there like the constant hope you have for Benedict.

“And I still hope he’ll notice I’m here. That I have been here all along,” You voice cracks on the admission causing a pang of upset to flash through Eloise. She’d reach out to comfort you, but it would only draw attention from the many mothers circling and no doubt, Lady Whistledown.

“(Y/N)…” Eloise begins but you hold a single hand up to stop her before she starts. With a strained smile, you reassure her. “It’s fine, Eloise. I accept it with every season that passes that it is unlikely he shall ever return my feelings.”

“Then he is a fool,” Eloise states plaining, sending a glare in the direction of her beloved brother. She had no qualms admitting that Benedict was indeed her favourite sibling, but he had his moments where he vexed her beyond belief.

“Who is a fool?” A voice questions to the right of you. Benedict.

Freezing in place, you cast a helpless look at Eloise, begging her silently to take control of this situation. Eloise smiles and nods imperceptibly. She turns towards her brother, hooking her arm through yours as she declares, “The men that have not offered their hand to (Y/N) yet. They’re all fools, aren’t they dear brother.”

Benedict casts his gaze towards you; his eyes scanning your face for what, he does not know. “Fools,” He agrees quietly though he is heard perfectly over the music. “Would you care to dance?” He asks, wanting you to himself for a little while. As much as he loved his younger sister, she was a keen observer, and he wasn’t ready for her to figure out his feelings just yet. Not when he hadn’t admitted them to you.

Nodding your head, you take his outstretched hand, bidding goodbye to Eloise for now. The brunette shakes her head as the both of you walk away. Oblivious, she thinks to herself, completely oblivious.

As the music strikes up once more, it becomes obvious that the next dance is a waltz, requiring the closeness of your partner. It was only years ago that this dance had scandalised the ton for its closeness – now, it was required at every ball, many married couples savouring the intimacy.

Benedict’s hand settles on the small of your back as his other grips your hand. Your hand rests comfortably on his shoulder as he begins to lead you through the steps you have known since your youth.

Music around you fades as do the other couples. The only two people in the room are Benedict and yourself. The feel of his hand on your back and the look in his eyes; it’s enough to have you accept your fate then and there. It’s enough for you to admit that you have been ruined for any and all men; finding yourself in love with the man who holds you so tenderly and has always held you in high regard. Is this it? You ask yourself, is this what it feels like to be loved by him? To feel like the only one in the world. If it is, you’ll take it with open hands.

Your eyes do not leave his as Benedict leads you through the rises and falls of the dance. His hand remains a steady presence on your lower back; the feeling just enough to distract you from the crowd now watching you and instead, leading you to wonder what his hands would feel like elsewhere on your body.

As the music falls into another song; this one more upbeat, Benedict drops his hands, letting you free. He hadn’t wanted to; had wanted to pull you from the ballroom, to confess the feelings that have haunted him for years and to ask you to be his for better or for worse.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he bows and smiles, reaches for your hand to kiss it and then lets himself breathe as he turns and walks away.

-------------

Dear Reader,

Though there is much to report from Lady Danbury’s ball last night – the fashion, the food, the décor – This Author wants to focus on one moment in particular.

Now, Dear Reader, whilst you may wonder the importance of such a moment, remember that it is one’s job to observe all. That is why I want to bring attention to Mr. Benedict Bridgerton who found himself extremely popular last night, dancing with many eligible women and delighting them with his talents.

However, Dear Reader, this is not the moment I want to focus on.

No. Instead, I want to bring attention to the heart most likely suffering in silence as Mr. Bridgerton continues to charm the ton.

As you all know, I am not one to beat around the proverbial bush and hide identities, but for the sake of the woman who has found herself in love with the second eldest Bridgerton for as long she can remember, I shall endeavour to keep her name a secret.

Know, however, that This Author’s sympathies lie with you.

To love another unrequitedly is a dear shame.

----------

The gossip sheet is scrunched to a ball in your hands. It’s all you can do to keep the tears from falling down your face. As if you didn’t know your love was unrequited; as if you didn’t know you had all but doomed yourself to being a spinster as you wait for a man who did not know you loved him.

Lady Whistledown knew your secret, and your identity. As a result, the whole ton knew your secret but whatever morals the author possesses, she had not revealed your identity.

Summoning the carriage, you ask to be taken to Bridgerton House where you can speak to Eloise in confidence and ask for her advice on what she might do. Deep down, you had to know whether Benedict had read the paper too.

It doesn’t take long for Eloise to find you in the tea room; a cup of tea in your hands but readily ignored as you chew on the inside of your cheek. Her brown hair tied up in her usual bun, her eyes hold the pity you didn’t want to see or hear as of this moment.

“I didn’t know she was listening, I swear,” Eloise promises, sitting by your side and reaching for your hand.

“I know,” You comfort, “You would never tell a soul.”

“At least she didn’t reveal your identity,” Eloise chirps, trying to find a silver lining.

“Yet she has revealed my secret to the entirety of London society,” You sigh. Removing your hand from Eloise’s, you press your palm to your forehead, feeling overwhelmingly tired and desperate for the day to be over already. “Does he know?”

Eloise chews on her bottom lip, deciding whether to answer you. “He has read it,” She admits,  but rushes to add, “He doesn’t know it’s you! He doesn’t have a clue really. He’s angrier at himself for not noticing anything was amiss.”

“I don’t know what to do,” You whisper, feeling helpless.

“For now,” Eloise states, “We do nothing.”

---------

Your heels sink into the soft carpet as you wander down the stairs, pausing only to check you have everything. Your mind remains elsewhere as you check your bag out of habit, the conversation with Eloise, the latest gossip sheet, your feelings for Benedict. They circle around your mind, leaving you dizzy in their wake as you try to make sense of them all, try to find your next step in and amongst the mess.

“(Y/N),” Benedict greets, hurrying down the final few stairs, pleasantly surprised, “What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were visiting.”

“I came to drop in on Eloise. I wanted to thank her for last night; she was an ear when I needed someone to listen.”

“Is it anything I can help with?” He asks, voice taking on a concerned note as he reaches out for you.

You shake your head, squeezing his hand in return. “For now, everything is okay.”

Benedict clears his throat. “I’m glad to hear it, but please come to me next time. I want to help if I can.”

“I will,” You promise, your eyes now scanning over his fine clothes. “Where are you off to?”

“An art exhibition at Somerset House. They’re showing some Holbein’s from the Royal collection.”

“Holbein’s?” You ask, shocked at the name falling from Benedict’s mouth.

He nods, just as excited. It was a rare thing indeed to have Holbein’s on display; they were usually kept in whatever royal residence they found themselves in; hidden away from the public eye. Art was the very foundation of your friendship; having seen so many of his sketches as a young boy and watching them develop into surer lines and confident strokes. Benedict was an exceptionally talented artist – something he would say about yourself. Benedict was the only person to see such work; the watercolours in your sketchpad leaving him breathless as you bring life to the inanimate.

“Would you like to join me?” He asks before he can talk himself out of it. He had barely seen you all season; you had closed in yourself, as if accepting a fate that you did not want. Benedict would do what he could to ensure your happiness for a little bit longer.

“Unchaperoned?”

A faint blush rises on Benedict’s cheeks as he realises what he has asked of you. “I shall ask Eloise to accompany us,” He suggests, turning to face the direction in which you had just come, “Did she mention any plans to you?”

You shake your head to which Benedict leases a sigh of relief. “I’ll go ask her now. I’m sure she won’t mind… much.”

Laughing quietly, you wait patiently in the entryway of Bridgerton House. The house in London so often felt like a second home to you; spending so much of childhood summers here when your mother would take tea with the Bridgerton matriarch. As you grew into your teens, you would begin to visit the house with just your maid, calling on the family for social niceties. The friendship with Benedict and Eloise only solidified your standing in the close family unit.

Eloise’s voice brings you back to the present. She walks down the stairs, accompanied by her brother. Taking one look at you, waiting patiently for the both of them, Eloise gets a mischievous look in her eye. It isn’t a look that leaves you in comfort, but rather leaves you wondering just what she has planned for the art exhibition.  

“Eloise has so graciously accepted to join us,” Benedict announces, sounding rather pleased with himself.

Eloise smiles: a smile that sets Benedict’s nerves on edge. He would owe her for this, that much he knew. “I would be more than happy to accompany you, brother.”

Benedict resists the urge to groan; he’s in deep shit for this.

“Thank you, Eloise,” You murmur with a smile. Something in Eloise softens at your tone as if she would be unable to deny you this time with Benedict when it was their mother’s mission to see him married off this very season.

“Of course,” Eloise allows, glancing between you and Benedict – noting the longing in both sets of eyes. She shakes her head, gesturing to the door and where the carriages waits just beyond it. “Shall we?”

--------

“He wasn’t a handsome monarch, was he?” Eloise murmurs quietly, staring up at the grand portrait of the fearsome king who preferred executing his wives rather than loving them.

The walls of Somerset House have become dedicated to the eyes of the past. Past monarchs and relatives decorate the walls; their eyes following each attendant, as if curious to see how society is progressing less than three hundred years after the death of the artist.

Benedict chuckles; the very sound raising goosebumps across your skin. You barely repress the shiver the sound elicits. Trying your best to listen as the siblings argue about the reign of this particular monarch – the pros and the cons to what he did for the very country he ruled over for decades.

“Oh!” Eloise gasps, interrupting the argument and loosening her grip on your arm, she waves frantically at Penelope Featherington. “Would you mind terribly if I go say hello?”

“Not at all,” You laugh.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay with Benedict?”

The man in question scoffs, rolling his eyes at his little sister. “Off with you,” He dismisses, “I’ll escort (Y/N) – someone who actually appreciates the art.”

Eloise laughs as she turns away, but you do not miss the wink she sends in your direction. It hits you all at once; her mischievous look before you all left the house. She had concocted this plan in her head; accepting to accompany you as a rouse to get you and Benedict alone.

You didn’t know whether to appreciate her genius or hide her favourite book.

Jumping at the sound of someone clearing their throat, you focus your attention on Benedict. He watches you with an amused look, and it’s then that you realise that he has stood beside you waiting with his arm out for a minute or so whilst you glared after his younger sister. Taking his arm, you rid yourself of any thoughts of violence against Eloise. Instead, focusing on the man beside you.

“How are you?” You ask, hand resting gently on Benedict’s forearm.

“Do you mean in general or after today’s publication?”

“Both, I suppose.”

“In general, I am quite well. I have a wonderful lady on my arm, and I am in the presence of excellent art work. However, after today’s publication, I must admit I am rather angry.”

“Oh?” You sound, trying hard not to let his words affect you so much but they rattle around your mind on repeat, committing themselves where they will last for an eternity.

“I’ve never been the focus of the gossip paper and now after one ball, I am. I don’t think I like the attention.”

“I don’t believe that for one second, Benedict Bridgerton.”

He pauses, smiling widely down at you. His eyes light up with the smile and your heart begins to pound at the sight of it. “Alright, I do like the attention,” He concedes, “But what I don’t like are the looks I’m getting from all mothers.”

“Why?”

“They all look like I’m about to break their daughter’s heart.”

“I’m sure you’re just imagining things,” You reassure, tightening your grip on his arm.

“I don’t think I am,” He states, nodding politely at Lady Whitelaw who in turn glares at the younger man. He turns his gaze to you as if to say, see?

You turn your face away from him, trying your best to hide the smile and laugh that threatens to break free. “You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?” Benedict guesses, a smile in his own voice.

“I’m not,” You promise, schooling your face into a mask of indifference, focusing on the closest sketch to you. A graphite sketch of Anne Boleyn; marking her beauty only years before her death.

“You are,” Benedict argues, standing beside you, admiring the same sketch. Throwing him a knowing smile, you turn your attentions to rest of the exhibition, unable to hide your awe at just what is being shown to the public.

The art is incredible; your watercolours barely compare to what is being shown in Somerset House. He would disagree in a heartbeat, but Benedict could come close to producing something of this calibre. He had shown his portraits of his mother and brothers; Anthony making the perfect candidate for a painting.

You come to a natural stop in front of a portrait of a young women. A young queen, in fact. This particular queen had never got to reign in the manner that she was capable, dying after giving birth the king’s heir. His one true love, the king had called her after he death.

“She’s beautiful,” You whisper, admiring not only the artistry but also the focus on the painting.

Benedict watches you admiring the portrait painted so carefully by Holbein. Though the portrait is indeed beautiful, Benedict finds himself agreeing that they do not hold a candle to you. As he watches you lift a single hand, trying to dampen the urge to run your fingers over the brush strokes, he thinks to himself that there would be no artist on this earth that would be so talented to capture your beauty.

His breath comes faster; his heart rate increases. He recognises the symptoms; he’s only experienced such signs before. He had been eighteen then; barely a man but man enough to accept that he had fallen in love with his best friend. Years later, here he was, experiencing such feelings once more. Once more, he wonders what it would be like to be loved by you. He cannot help but hope that the mystery woman in the society papers is you.

-------

Dear Reader,

It seems that Mr. Benedict Bridgerton reads my paper!

He was overheard at the Somerset House Holbein exhibition, complaining to Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) about my last column in which I criticised his treatment of the lady in love with him.

All I have to say on the matter is this:

Mr. Bridgerton, for every complaint you offer, you break her heart further. Stop now before you do irreparable damage.

-----

“What does she mean ‘break her heart further’? I’ve been trying to figure out who it is so I can put a stop to it!”

“It doesn’t matter whether you know who it is, Benedict,” You argue, placing your teacup on the table, “But rather the fact that you unknowingly hurt whoever it is that is in love with you.”

“Do my feelings not matter?” He demands, throwing the damned paper onto the table. Benedict runs a hand through his hair, sighing in frustration. “I’m sorry,” He apologises, “I should not have taken that tone with you. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You’re forgiven,” You laugh, “I’ve heard you say a lot worse.”

He smiles though it doesn’t reach his eyes. Leaning forward on your chair, you wring your hands together, working up the nerve. “What feelings haven’t they taken into account?”

“Lady Whistledown,” He spits the name with derision, “Hasn’t taken into account that I may not have noticed someone in love with me because I am in love with someone myself.”

It’s as if the chair is pulled out from under you; your stomach dips and flips as the world crashes around you and Benedict is none the wiser. He’s none the wiser to the palpable shift that has taken place. Instead, he’s sat down across from, looking utterly defeated.

“Does she know?” You ask after a moment of silence, using the time to pull yourself back together, to compile it all and put it away for later.

Benedict shakes his head; eyes sad as he watches you. “Why haven’t you told her?” You ask, unable to stop the questions now they’re on the tip of your tongue.

“I suppose for the same reason she hasn’t told me. Fear maybe?”

“Fear of what? I’ve never known you to be afraid of anything.”

“Fear of rejection. Fear of humiliation. Fear of ruining a friendship,” He lists off, counting the reasons on his fingers, holding them up for you to see.

“Have you thought about telling her?”

“All the time,” He answers honestly, and you wonder whether the crack your heart makes was audible to the whole of the ton.

“Do you plan on telling them?”

“Eventually.”

You take a deep breath, staring at the teacup instead of him, readying yourself to offer up your broken heart. To confess that the two most recent society papers have been about you; have shown your heart to the whole of London.

“It’s me,” You confess quietly, voice no louder than a whisper but he hears you all the same.

Benedict’s head whips towards you. Had this been another situation, it would have been funny, but the look on his face… “What?” He whispers, shocked.

“It’s me,” You announce; louder this time, ready to lay your heart out on the floor for him to break entirely. “It’s me, Benedict. Lady Whistledown must have overheard Eloise and myself talking at Lady Danbury’s ball the other night. She had caught me watching you dance and asked me outright. I couldn’t deny it. I’ve been in love with you for years, Benedict. For as long as I can remember.”

“For as long as you can remember?”

You nod, wringing your hands together once more. “I didn’t realise until I turned twenty, just what my feelings meant. I think I’ve always been in love with you, Benedict.”

Benedict remains silent; eyes wide, hands slack as they rest on his thighs. He looks like he doesn't believe the very words leaving your mouth; as if he is unworthy of the love you offer him so willingly. 

“Say something, please,” You plead, “I know it isn’t proper for the woman to announce her feelings for the man, but I couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. Not when it is the focus for Lady Whistledown to sell more copies of her paper.”

“I didn’t know,” He whispers after a prolonged silence.

“You weren’t to know. You don’t have to feel the same, Benedict.”

“I do as it happens.”

“What?”

“I do feel the same,” Benedict clarifies, standing from his chair, “I’ve loved you since I was eighteen.”

You sniffle slightly; emotional from hearing the words you have longed to hear for years. The words that have haunted your dreams; had you rushing from sleep, so you didn’t let yourself believe an alternate reality.

“You do?”

Benedict nods, “I do. I love you very much.”

“I love you too,” You reply, standing from your chair, reaching for him – not wanting anymore space between the two of you.

He dips his head, pausing mere millimetres away from your lips. The question burns in his eyes; desperate to know whether he can kiss you after so long waiting. Your nod is barely imperceptible but it’s nod, nonetheless.

Slowly, almost wanting to savour every moment, Benedict presses his lips to yours. Reaching up, you haul him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him pressed against you after having waited so long, after having dreamed of this moment for too long.

He tastes like tea and his hands bring to life the butterflies in your stomach as they wander the path of your back, settling on your lower back, dipping you slightly. Benedict groans softly at the feel of you lined up against him. If he had known heaven was this close, he would not have waited this long.

Benedict breaks the kiss; not out of need of air, but to stop himself from taking this too far when you feel like heaven pressed against him. You smile widely, kissing his jaw lovingly before starting to laugh lightly. Benedict’s hands on your waist tighten possessively as he joins you in laughter.

Briefly, he wonders whether this is what it feels like to be loved by you.

********

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​ @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown​

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagines

[yournameoneverypage]

Tonight Is the Night

Reader request. Shawn Mendes x YOU. “The first time that they have sex. Fluffy and romantic.” Word Count: ~2.3 Notes: This has been in my ASK for way too long. I am so very sorry it took me forever to get this written! I hope the anon who requested this follows me or otherwise sees it in one of my tags. As always, I would love to hear what you think (all of you!), even if you want to be/stay anonymous. Warnings: Soft core smut.

~ * ~

Shawn had pushed aside the coffee table and was spreading out a blanket in the middle of the living room floor of his condo. He had originally planned an evening picnic, somewhere you and he could watch the sunset together, but the weather had changed quickly and unexpectedly. A storm was moving in.

You hadn’t been together long, but long enough that you had recently been moving closer and closer to connecting on a deeper, more physical, more intimate level. Shawn had thought maybe tonight could be the night, so he wanted to wine and dine and romance your pants off, figuratively, before he did so literally.

He scattered a few pillows on the blanket before a large, wicker picnic basket. Beside it was a bottle of wine and two wine glasses, and on top rested a bouquet of wildflowers, which he had put together himself. He hadn’t wanted someone else to do it for him; he hoped it would show you how special you were becoming to him.

Shawn’s heart skipped when he heard the knock on his door.

He answered with a dazzling smile, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Hi baby,” he murmured, drawing you into his arms for a hug. He kissed you, softly at first, but it quickly intensified and turned playful.

His giddiness was contagious and you giggled. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Can’t I just be happy to see my girl?”

“Of course you can,” you blushed. You loved when he called you his girl, or anytime he used little nicknames with you.

“Thank you for coming over. I had to alter my original plan for this evening because of the storm. So, I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes.”

You did, biting softly on your bottom lip. He took your hand in his and led you toward the living room.

“Okay. You can open them.”

When you did, your heart swelled; it was absolutely perfect. “Oh Shawn,” you breathed and grinned brightly. “I love this...!!” You linked your other hand with his as well and rose to your tiptoes to press your lips to his. Kissing Shawn was one of your very favorite things.

When you eased away, he smiled shyly, blushing softly, proud of himself for making you smile the way you were in that moment. “I hoped you would.”

He gestured for you to choose where you might want to sit before sitting down beside you on a pillow next to the picnic basket. He offered you the posy of flowers. “I picked them out myself,” he said, with childlike innocence.

You immediately brought them to your nose. “These are gorgeous, baby, thank you,” you breathed. You angled your body toward him and reached out to dip the pad of your thumb in the cleft of his chin. He took your hand and pressed a kiss to its palm.

From the picnic basket, Shawn withdrew fresh vegetables and pita chips with herbed feta dip, focaccia sandwiches, and pasta salad, and spread them out between you. “Almost as good as a sunset picnic outdoors, eh?”

You shook your head. “No. It’s better,” you smiled. “This really is perfect, babe. I love it.” You bit your tongue before you could add those three little words you had been feeling for him for the past couple of weeks now. You worried it was still a little too soon.

You and Shawn always had fun together, with lots of laughter, and the absolute best conversations. That evening was no exception as you had your date in the middle of the living room floor.

The more wine you drank, the softer, more romantic you both began to feel, the closer you brought yourselves together. The dim light of the lowest setting of floor lamps and the rattle of rain against the windows only added to the ambiance. Your voices grew more intimate, your touches lingered a little longer, and lips found bare skin more often.

~ * ~

Before you could make it to dessert, which Shawn knew was a cliché but didn’t care, a vivid flash of lightning lit up the world outside, followed immediately by an immense crash of thunder, and the power abruptly went out. You shrieked, startling Shawn, who then began to laugh, hand over his heart. You starting laughing as well, and you lost yourselves to a fit of giggles.

You scrambled to your feet and approached one of the floor to ceiling picture windows. The power hadn’t gone out everywhere; seemingly only the immediate few miles around Shawn’s building. City lights were bright enough to partially illuminate the living room.

You loved storms and this was, by far, the most amazing view you had ever had of a storm. Shawn stepped up behind you and slid his arm around your waist, splaying his large hand across your stomach. Your eyes fell closed when you felt his lips on your shoulder. You tipped your head. He easily took the hint and his mouth moved to the crook of your neck.

“What are we going to do until the power is restored?” you purred, arching your back slightly to brush your bottom against the front of his pants.

He exhaled and shuddered. There it was, that tone in your voice he had been waiting for, and the physical, effective green light. He breathed in the scent of your skin, bit down gently, sucked, and hummed.

Your nerve endings lit up like the lightning outside. You trembled when he soothed his mark with his tongue and nearly whimpered, “Shawn...”

Suddenly, unexpectedly, he felt nervous, but in the best way. He needed a few minutes to get things ready. “Wait here, Love,” he whispered.

“What?” you asked softly, bemused when he was easing away from you instead of pulling you closer.

“Just...wait here,” he smirked.

That grin and the sparkle of adoration in his eyes quickly turned your uncertainty into anticipation.

While he gathered whatever he needed for whatever he was up to, you moved closer to the window you were standing before and placed one hand against the glass. Your forehead fell to rest against it as well while your other hand covered your fluttering stomach to try to calm it.

You could still feel his mark on your neck. Would it purple? Would you wear his claim on you for everyone to see? Had you made yourself clear enough to him that you were ready, almost desperate, to give yourself to him? You prayed you had, but for all you knew he was retrieving flashlights and looking for board games.

When Shawn returned, sans flashlights or board games, he offered his hand to you.

“Another surprise?” you breathed, slipping your hand into his.

“One I hope will be even better than this,” he said, with a grin, gesturing to your picnic.

Eagerness and your desire for him growing with every step, you let him lead you toward his bedroom.

~ * ~

The bed was flawlessly turned down and Shawn had lit candles all around, giving the room an ethereal glow. Barely imperceptible music could be heard drifting from his phone, and there was a bowl of chocolate covered strawberries on the nightstand beside the bed.

Again you felt him step up behind you and slip his arm around your waist, but instead of resting his hand across your stomach, it slid further down, down, over smooth, bare thigh, and then up again, beneath your sundress. You felt the pressure of his warm hand at the apex your legs. He drew you tighter, deliciously, against him.

“Okay?” he whispered so softly against your shoulder you almost hadn’t heard him over the storm.

In response, you covered his hand with yours and increased the pressure at your core.

“I’m going to make you feel so good,” he breathed, his voice earnest and fervent. “I promise.” He stroked you through the delicate fabric of your panties.

You both groaned, you from the movement of his fore and middle fingers against your lace covered clit, him from how your ass rubbed against his crotch, his cock filling, hardening swiftly, encased within two thin layers of cotton.

You turned around in his arms and cupped his face, guiding his lips to yours. You felt his fingers trace the length of your spine and your kiss deepened.

With murmured assurances and increasing intensity, your mouths barely parted as you undressed each other.

He laid you gently on the bed, opening your legs to him, and settled himself between them. His strong yet tender hands began to caress the outsides of your thighs, over your hips, and up your sides, the roughened pads of his fingertips dancing along heated, sensitive skin.

Your eyes closed, you tipped your head back and moaned softly. You felt his lips start at your chin and move down your neck to the swells of your breasts.

Slowly, he eased away. He wanted to look at you spread out beneath him, but you didn’t have the patience for that, wanting him closer and closer still. You reached for him, pulled him to you once again, and breathed, “Shawn, please...”

Your lips touched his and he was kissing you again.

He knew exactly what he was doing to you and how he was making you feel from your mumbled words, soft moans, and how his name changed as it fell from your lips. He listened as your body sang to his, and his confidence grew.

He took one of your hardened nipples into his mouth as two fingers slipped inside your wet heat, thumb rubbing against your clit. You mewled and began to rock against his hand. You barely felt the gravity keeping you anchored to the bed. He made you feel as if you were flying.

“Stop, stop,” you gasped, feeling yourself inching incredibly close to your precipice, and tried to close your legs. “Please, stop.”

“What’s wrong, Love?”

“Nothing, nothing is wrong- feels good,” you hummed, unconsciously arching against his hand. He began pumping his fingers again, crooking them just right to brush over that wonderful bundle of nerves, and circled your clit. “OhGod,” you groaned. “Shawn, please... I- I’mgonna- come,” you stammered.

Fingers unrelenting, he lowered himself over you to bite gently on your clavicle, sucking and soothing.

You moaned in pleasure. “Stop baby, stop,” you said, breathing hard, heart beating fast.

He withdrew his soaking wet hand from between your legs. You physically ached with the loss, whimpering. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he whispered.

“I want to make you feel good, too,” you exhaled, trying to slow your breathing, reaching between your bodies, wrapping your hand around his hardness.

He jerked, shuddered, lips falling to the crook of your neck, and growled. “You do, you are,” he rumbled, groaned, unable to stop himself from thrusting a few times in your gentle grip.

You bit softly on his jawline, right at the juncture below his ear, sucked and soothed the skin, which would certainly bloom purple and red by morning. You purred in his ear, “I want you inside me when we come.”

Once he was protected, he slowly entered you, allowing you both to adjust to the way your bodies fit together. The ease and slide was superb and almost overwhelming when your eyes met and held, and he began to move.

This. This was so much more than sex. This was making love. You hadn’t known the true meaning of lovemaking before this moment with Shawn. You both wanted it to last, but the intensity was too much. Before long, your need for completion was overpowering and you allowed yourselves to tumble and roll, erupt and crest.

Together.

~ * ~

Naked as the day you were born, you sat in bed, partially tangled in one another, soft candlelight and shadows playing over Shawn’s hard planes and your soft curves. You were feeding each other chocolate covered strawberries between kisses, sexy touches, and giggles.

“We’re doing that again in like, ten minutes,” he smirked. “And then again when the power comes back on. I want to see how much more beautiful you are with the lights on.”

“Sweet talker,” you muttered, cheeks pinking.

“This close to you, even in the soft light, I can see that you’re blushing. I can’t wait to see you blush everywhere.”

“Shut up,” you giggled.

“Make me,” he grinned.

You pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips.

“All right then. Sooner than ten,” he chuckled, body responding more quickly than he thought possible.

You lowered your mouth to his and effectively shut him up. Well, until he was grunting, moaning, calling out your name, and finally breathless beneath you.

~ * ~

Laying across Shawn’s chest, you could feel your hearts beat in sync. You had never been more thoroughly sated or happier.

He was tenderly tracing shadows of rain down your back. You had almost fallen asleep when you heard him whisper, “Have I told you yet that I’m falling in love with you?”

You were instantly awake again, propping yourself up on folded arms and smiling into eyes that were shining back at you. “You are?”

“Mmhm,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your eyes and tucking it behind your ear. “Fallin’ all in you...”

You brought your lips to his and your mouths fell together, tender and languid. You could spend forever with him like this. “I’m falling in love with you, too,” you breathed.

His smile was bigger than you had ever seen it and brighter than the lightning still flashing outside.

You kissed, curled up in one another, lazy and soft, listening to the storm as the thunder retreated, until you drifted off to sleep.

~ * ~

@mendesblurb @hiding-behind-a-flower @benito-mi-vida I'm also tagging @silverswallow and @theregoesmyherojd, but please let me know if you don't want me to tag you in future writings.

#shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes request #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes x you #shawn mendes x y/n

[evanstanhoney]

Let Me Love You.

pairing: chris evans x reader

summary: you haven't been yourself lately and chris just want's to help.

⚠️warnings: smut, d/s undertones, unprotected sex

word count: 1.2k

“Honey,” Chris hums into your ear, arms wrapped around your waist.  

“Yes,” you huff rubbing in what remained of your moisturizer. You were stood in front of your bathroom mirror finishing off your nightly routine, in nothing but one of Chris's t-shirts, Chris’s eyes watching you from the doorframe. He couldn’t help but admire you in your natural when Chris finally decided to say what’s been on his mind all day. You hadn’t been yourself lately, too stressed about something, your mind constantly somewhere else far away from him, and he couldn't take it any longer. 

“You’re stressed.” he states planting a kiss on your shoulder, “why don’t you let me help you relax.” 

“I’m fine, baby.”  

Chris always prided himself on how well he knew you. How easily he could read you, he had everything about you memorized. From the way you made your coffee, if you were in the mood for that over tea, to the way that you __. He knew everything from when you were stressed to when you were tired. And He knew how to remedy it all.

 “No, you’re not. And I know that you’re not because -” 

You turn around in his hold, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, giving him a quick kiss, “Because you know me better than anyone.” you quote playfully rolling your eyes. 

“Yeah,” He chuckles along with you, “and because I know you, I know when you’re stressed out. So tell me, what can I do?” he asks sincerely. 

“Nothing.” you say giving him a small smile, and patting his cheek, “I’ll be fine.” you leaned forward landing your lips on his in a kiss. 

“You sure?” he mumbles into the kiss, lips still attached to yours. 

“Positive.” Chris comes in for another kiss, which turns into more, as he grips at your hips, “I think I know something that will take your mind off of whatever it is that’s bothering you.” he says lowly, hands roaming down to your ass, squeezing lightly. 

“Yeah?” you smirk

“Mhmm, I do.” he says resting his forehead on yours, “I just want to make you come baby.” he whispers against your lips, and you can’t help the little whimper that leaves your lips, “Can I do that?” 

His words sent butterflies to your stomach, and you could feel the pool starting between your legs, “Yes.” you nearly moan out pulling him closer to you, “yes, please.” You lunge forward crashing your lips to his, and they fit so perfectly, moving in sync. Your hands roam down to the waistband of his sweat pants but he stops you, his massive hands wrapping around your wrists. 

“Not here.” he pants into your mouth pulling away from your kiss, “Come here.” 

He extends a hand out to you which you gladly take. He leans down, kissing the back of your hand quickly before flashing you a smirk. He turns, making his way towards your bedroom, pulling you behind him. 

When you two reach the bed, he teasingly turns around picking you up and tossing you down on the bed making you let out a little giggle. He climbs in the bed after you, crawling up the bed, and planting kisses up your body from your shin to your neck, and finally to your lips. Your lips meld together in a searing kiss that had your head spinning. He snakes his hand down between the two of you rubbing his hand over your core, covered in nothing but the thin material of your panties. His skilled fingers draw figure eights over your clit, making you moan out. 

“Chris.” you whimper rolling your hips up into his fingers chasing the friction. 

“Okay, okay. I won’t tease, I promise.” He coos, planting a soft kiss to the corner of your lips. Just then he pushes the thin barrier of your panties to the side and begins slowly rubbing circles to your clit and you can’t help the deep moan that escapes your lips. His fingers tease at your entrance, gathering the wetness there and rubbing it up and down your folds. 

“You’re so wet, babe. Barley did anything,” he smirks down at you, and you give him a little pout, desperate for him to do more, than what he was giving you, “you’re always so ready for me, fuck.” he says almost more to himself than to you. 

Just when you were about to complain, just when you were about to beg for more, he slowly plunges a finger inside. You grip at his shoulder, letting out a deep moan at the feeling of fullness, even with one finger it felt amazing. But still, you wanted more, needed more. 

“Chris-” you moan out

“Yes?” he asks, halting his assault to your neck. 

“I need more,” you whine. As much as Chris wants to tease you, to make it last as long as he can for you, he made a promise, and he’s never on to break a promise, especially to you. So he plunges a second finger into you curling it just right to hit that spot deep inside you that had your eyes rolling back. 

Chris was so skilled with his fingers he knew exactly what to do to drive you wild. He pumped his fingers in and out of you nice and slow, with his thumb circling the little bundle of nerves, drawing out all kinds of moans and groans from you.

“That feel good, baby?” he asks. You can’t even speak, too enthralled with what his fingers were doing, that all you could do was nod frantically.

“Tell me you want my cock,” he growls in your ear.  

“I want it. I need it.” 

“That’s not how we ask for things, now is it?” He teases, his fingers hooking up, hitting a different spot. 

“Fuck - no,” you whine. 

“Then ask me correctly.” 

“Can I please have your cock?” you plead, your grip on his shoulders tightening as his fingers continued to work their magic. 

“Good girl,” he praises, “yes you may.” He unsheaths his fingers from your core, licking them clean before fumbling with the waistband of his boxers, pushing them down his legs allowing his cock to spring free. 

He takes himself in his hand pumping a few times before running it through your wet folds, up and down collecting the wetness. 

“Fuck.” groans out, tapping the head of his cock on your clit. You let out a little whine biting your lip and rolling your hips up, hoping he’d catch the hint. 

“Please,” you beg, and just like that he gives you exactly what you want, entering you in one motion, bottoming out. He crashes his lips to yours, swallowing your moans. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby.” He moans out, resting his forehead against yours.

His movements were slow and shallow at first, allowing you to get used to the stretch that always came. He was always so gentle with you, always reading you and following your lead. And god, could he read you well. When you began rolling your hips up towards his, the way that you’d grip at his shoulders or run your fingers down his back. The way that you moans, would turn more into deeper groans. He knew what it all meant, and he didn’t hesitate to give you what you wanted. 

Soon his slow shallow strokes turned quicker and deeper hitting that spot deep inside you, making your head spin. 

“Oh my go-” you moan out, tucking yourself into Chris’s neck

“It’s okay I got you - fuck. I got you.” He pants into your hair. 

His hips quickened, nothing but the sound of skin against skin filling the room as he pounded into you. You could feel that coil deep in your stomach begins to tighten and you knew it was only a matter of time. 

“Fuck, baby. I can feel you -” he grunts, “come for me. Come on my cock baby come on.” he urges as his hips become quicker. He sneaks a hand down in between the two of you, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing at the little bundle of nerves. It’s enough to get you to cry out, and soon enough you see white, body tingling all over as you reach your high. 

“Shit -” Chris moans, his own orgasm creeping up, as he feels your velvety walls contracting around him. 

“Cum in me,” you moan out, bringing your hands up intertwining your fingers in his hair. “Please. I want you to,” you say tugging at his hair lightly the way he likes. He lets out a deep grown crashing his lips to yours, as he spills into you. 

His hips slow down to a stop and too quickly he lifting himself up, making a move to roll over next to you. 

“Wait, stay for a second,” you whisper, pulling him back closer to you. And he lets you, staying there with you while you both come down from your highs, his head resting on your chest. 

“That was amazing. Thank you,” you say into the darkness of the moonlit room. 

“You’re welcome,” He chuckles looking up at you, “Do you feel better?” 

“Much.” you smile down at him planting a kiss on his forehead. “Thank you.”  

chris evans masterlist // shawn mendes masterlist // ao3 // wattpad

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